


The Witch and The Detective

by The_Consulting_Werewolf



Series: The Witch and The Detective Trilogy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 30,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1422517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Consulting_Werewolf/pseuds/The_Consulting_Werewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(First fanfic *nervous*)<br/>A murder mystery brings together the consulting detective and the brightest witch of her age. Suspenseful? Yes. Drama? Maybe. Secrets revealed? All in good time!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, first time. Totally freaking out. Don't know if I am doing this right. So please be gentle!  
> *puppy eyes*

He took out the slim wooden stick out of his pocket. Panic flashed in her dark eyes. She prayed he would not, but then again. She heard him mutter the spell, “Avada Kedavra.” All she saw was the green light. Then oblivion.  
He saw her slender figure sway like a dead leaf and fall to the floor. Her face was frozen in eternal fear. He shook his head. Killing her was difficult. He did not want to, but he had to. He had to protect this secret at all cost.  
He looks around and cleans the mess and his fingerprints with one swoosh of his wand. Then he proceeds to destroy anything remotely magical she had on her person. He fails to find her wand, though. Never mind, the Muggles won’t understand even if they do manage to find it. Next he takes out his gun from his pocket and aims it at her. He shoots twice. First in her chest, second in her face. His shoulders sag in relief when he sees the blood seep out a little. At least the Muggles might think he killed her someplace else.  
He frowns as he leaves that still-in-construction penthouse apartment where he had asked her to meet. He hopes her soul rests in peace. But she was such a menace anyway, he wonders if she ever will.  
He knows the Muggles will find her. But they will never figure this one out. He allows himself some humour. Stupid Muggles, he thinks.

Five hours later, a man enters the new up and coming Park Court deluxe apartments. He whistles softly to himself as he lets himself in apartment number 302. He remembers having left his work folder there.   
The body lies there. He sees it. Folder forgotten, he runs out and heaves his meager breakfast out. Her face, he shudders. The mobile gets taken out of his pants with shaky fingers and heavy breathes.  
“101? There’s a girl. She’s dead.”


	2. Chapter One: The World's Only Consulting Detective

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade is tired. He just wanted one good night’s sleep. But oh no, someone decided to stumble across a body at six in the morning. That someone, Dudley Dursley, was still wheezing. He was already pink enough, but now he looked like a pig. Lestrade’s already thinning patient was thinning out still. He walked up to Dudley who was sitting down busy clasping and unclasping his hands.  
“So you came here to retrieve your folder and discovered the body?” the silver haired DI asks Mr. Dursley.  
Dudley nods while futilely trying to control his breathing and trying not to look at spot where he had found the body. Well he could, as the body had been taken away fifteen minutes ago. What he could not fathom in his muddled state was why he was still here.  
“Look Mr. Dursley you can leave now but don’t go too far away.”  
His slow brain gets what the detective means, “You think-”  
“It’s a police thing.”  
Dursley nods once again and leaves. That was a nightmare of epic proportions. He now has to call his secretary and cancel his appointments. He needed a day off and he needed to talk to his wife.  
But before he left the scene of crime, he hears the detective shouting at a subordinate, “What is this wooden stick?”  
Dudley peeks at the “stick” from the corner of his eyes. A shiver runs down his body. He knows what that is.

 

Sherlock Holmes was bored. He had completed a case two days prior which was too easy. The Magnussen issue was still out there. He thinks he knows what he wanted to do but he wasn’t sure it could actually work. Plus John was back at Baker Street, still sulking and angry. And his bullet wound still stared back at him every time he looked in the mirror, reminding him about that night.  
He was staring up at the ceiling, contemplating shooting the wall again when he gets a message. The phone was on the ground. He considers calling John but decides against it because it is seven thirty in the morning and John might be still sleeping. The phone pings again.  
He picks up the phone anyway. He smiles.  
Found a body. Jane Doe. Gunshot wounds.  
-L  
Shooting was post mortem. COD unclear.  
-L  
Perfect. Sherlock is now a flurry of activity. First he throws away his dressing robe, not caring where it falls. He jumps in and out of his bathroom in a record of two minutes. He grabs his jacket and runs upstairs to rouse John.  
“JOHN!” Sherlock shouts, “JOHN, CASE!”  
John Watson almost falls off his bed. He was dreaming about babies and rainbows when he sees an unicorn transforming into a fierce dragon shouting out his name.  
“Dra-wha-huh?” John mumbles as he tries to wake up. He still thinks a dragon wants to eat him, but instead he sees the world’s only consulting detective looming over him in his six feet tall frame. “Oh.” John mutters, his mind clearing little by little.  
“No time John. Here, your clothes,” Sherlock says as he throws a handful of clothes at John’s face. John rolls his eyes and leaves the comfort of his bed as Sherlock prances out of his room, talking about something “COD, unclear, wonderful”.  
Wonderful indeed, John grumbles as he mistakenly wears his shirt inside out.


	3. Chapter Two: The Brightest Witch of Her Age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People are actually reading this....*freaks out*  
> But thank you so much!

Cho Chang Dursley was really glad to meet her former schoolmate Hermione Granger on Diagon Alley. Cho had a little but prosperous tea shop on Diagon Alley whose second floor acted as the Dursley residence. She was just opening up when she spotted Hermione. She had even invited Hermione to her cafe for tea and some catching up.  
They were now seated in the tastefully decorated tea room, Blue Porcelain. Cho asked, “So Hermione, still at the Ministry?”  
“Where else,” Hermione replied with mock despair and a dramatic eye roll, “But I have to admit, Kingsley Shacklebott is a much better boss.”  
The two women sniggered. Cho softly asked, “And umm, how’s the thing with Ron? I read it in the Daily Prophet. I couldn’t believe it.”  
Hermione’s shoulder sagged a little. The “thing” with Ron was still a fresh wound and people’s sympathy was like salt to that wound. She said, still wincing inside, “No good. We are getting a divorce.”  
Cho sighs sadly, “And the kids? It must be so difficult for them.”  
“Well I am taking Rose while Ron is taking custody of Hugo. It’s taking a toll on all of us. How is Lana?” Lana Yin Dursley is Cho’s eleven years old daughter.  
Cho laughs a little, “Sleeping off her last night’s sugar rush!”  
“I know that one!” Hermione joins in, “She starts Hogwarts this year, right?”  
“Yes,” Cho beams like the proud mommy she feels like, “I hope she gets into Ravenclaw!”  
Hermione clears her throat, “What about your in-laws?”  
Cho smiles a little, “Well my mother-in-law looked pleased and my father-in-law looked defeated,” she grins at that memory, “and Dudley accepted it gradually. It was a good thing that letter.”  
Hermione gives her a knowing look. The Hogwarts acceptance letter is the thing that managed to finally bridge the gap between Dudley Dursley and his wizard cousin, Harry Potter.  
Cho continues, “You know Dudley-”  
As if on cue her husband enters her little tea shop, looking flustered and agitated. Cho rises from her seat. Hermione turns around, frowning as she stands up too.  
“Cho-”, he mumbles.  
Cho directs him to a seat and summons a vial. Hermione reckons it is a calming draught. She gently coaxes Dudley to gulp the liquid. He does so.   
Cho sits beside him and asks, “What’s wrong?”  
“There was a dead body at our new construction site,” he says as the two women gasp out loud, “and they found a wand, or I think-”  
Hermione speaks out for the first time since his appearance, “A wand?”  
Dudley looks at her bewildered. She is Harry’s friend right? “You-”  
Hermione reaches out her right hand, “Hermione Granger, Harry’s friend. You met me once.” She gives him a bright smile, “You were talking about some wand?”  
Dudley throws a questioning look at Cho. She nods her head, “She works at the Ministry of Magic. You can trust her.”  
Dudley takes a deep breath, “They found a wand at the crime scene. The police took it.”  
Hermione nods her head determinedly. She asks Cho, “Do you mind if I use your fireplace?”


	4. Chapter Three: Clueless

Sherlock wants to jump up and down in joy but refrains because they were in the lab waiting for Dr Molly Hooper and Lestrade would probably record it and John would mumble “Bit not good”. He just was so excited! Unclear COD is always interesting.  
“So yeah she was shot after she was already dead,” Molly says, entering the lab with a file in hand.  
Lestrade asks, “Poisoning?”  
Molly replies, “No. No trace of anything. This wasn’t even a heart attack. I mean she’s fine. I mean fine as in she was not even remotely unhealthy. It’s like as if she just died.” She assumes a thoughtful expression.  
Sherlock coughs, “No one just dies!”  
“I m-mean that all her organs just stopped working!”  
Sherlock snatches the folder from her hand and reads through it. Not satisfied, he commands, “I need to see the body.” And walks out of the lab with his ubiquitous Belstaf coat whooshing behind.  
Lestrade shakes his head, while John mumbles, “Such a drama queen.”  
Sherlock leans over the body. She had black straight her and her eyes were a dark brown, or what remained of it. Her face was destroyed beyond recognition. There was shot to her chest as well. He could tell from one glance that the bleeding was post mortem. He checked everywhere. No trace of disease. He turned around and spotted the heart that his pathologist had carefully enclosed in a jar. He picked it up. Nope, she was right. No trace of fatigue either. Just a great big hole. What did she die of then? The nose crinkle deepens.  
“The bullet is peculiar,” Molly speaks up from behind.  
“How so?” John asks.  
“It-”  
“Disintegrated into five pieces as soon as it hit her body,” Sherlock finishes her sentence.   
As everybody stares at him in shock, he sighs dramatically and points to the little metallic fragments Molly had collected.   
“Exactly,” Molly mutters, “the bullets destroyed everything in its trajectory.”  
“Also whoever shot her obviously wanted to disfigure her so identification would be difficult.” He mutters to himself, “But why?”  
Then he looked at Lestrade, “Find what kind of bullets these are. These are no ordinary bullets. I have two ideas so far.” He steeples his fingers under his chin. Closing his eyes, he wandered a bit into his mind palace while everybody waited with bated breath as to what the great amateur detective would come up with next.  
“The crime scene,” Sherlock shouts and does another dramatic exit.  
As his sudden proclamation stunned them, no one dared move. The doors to the morgue swished open again. Sherlock poked his curly head, “Lestrade, John, shall we? And Molly, do inform me if you manage to ID her.”  
“Uh yes,” Molly nods.  
“Oh yeah, right.” John mumbles. And leaves.  
“I will call you,” Lestrade says to Molly, who blushes a deep beetroot red and gently nods. And he leaves.

Sherlock calmly follows Lestrade as they reach the crime scene. But as soon as they get to the spot where the body had been found, Sherlock Holmes started investigating.  
Lestrade says, “We found no trace of fingerprints.”  
“Uh hmm,” Sherlock mumbles as he whips out his trusty magnifying glass. This was bothering him. Very, very much. He could fathom…nothing. And Sherlock Holmes does not like not knowing. He took a look around. It is quite spacious, apartment 302.The contractors of this site were some Dursley & Co. He might have heard of them. It was almost finished. And the countertop in the kitchen was really made of Formica. Cheap people. But what he could not find was evidence. No footprints. No random stray hair. He glimpsed at the little blood pool which gave him nothing. The killer either is a ghost or he is extremely fastidious and knows how to clean like a pro. A janitor? But where would janitors get those bullets from? And if the girl was already dead, why shoot her twice? How did she die anyway?  
Lestrade was patiently waiting for Sherlock to say something, anything. It has been now a total of ten minutes he had been silent, which was bothersome. Even John was wondering what was taking his friend so long to start with his deductions. Ten minutes was too long for Sherlock Holmes.  
Finally, twelve agonizing minutes later, Sherlock stands still with a unreadable expression on his face. John thinks it is confusion, but no, that cannot be. And the next words that come out of his mouth almost knocks Lestrade and John off their feet (like if this was an anime, they would be on the ground with their legs up in the air)-  
“I don’t understand.”  
“Wha-,” Lestrade begins, and then fails. He rubs his face and continues, “What do you mean?”  
“What I mean is simple. There are no traces of the killer. None!” Sherlock flails his hands. He was truly stumped. Thank God it was just Lestrade and John here. He did not like his inadequacy in this situation one bit. This situation…what is it? He ponders, totally oblivious to what Lestrade was saying. “SHERLOCK!” John shouted.  
Sherlock’s train of thought was broken, “What?”  
“I was saying,” Lestrade says, “We found a very strange thing on the crime scene. I asked would you like taking a look?”  
Of course he would. Lestrade was such an imbecile sometimes. “To Scotland Yard then!”  
He whooshes past them again. Lestrade and John share a look, which could be roughly translated to disbelief. Lestrade asks as they followed Sherlock, “Can you even?”  
“Nope,” John replied, “Did the sun rise from the west today or something?”


	5. Chapter Four: Statue of Secrecy

Hermione Granger knocks on the emerald green door with bated breath. A deep voice says from the other end, “Come in Ms Granger.”  
The door opens to a spacious room where the current Minister of Magic is sitting behind an impressive ebony desk. Hermione walks in, closing the door behind her. She makes no pretense and launches in on her objective, “Mr. Shacklebott, Muggle police found a wand at a crime scene.”  
Kingsley Shacklebott rises from his seat. He walks around his desk and points Hermione to sit down on the chair facing him. She takes the seat. He asks, “From the beginning please.”  
“I don’t know much. Cho Chang’s husband, Dudley Dursley found the body of a woman. He saw the police pocketing the wand as evidence.”  
Shacklebott rubs his chin. “We need admittance to this case.” He looks at Hermione, “Was the killing curse used?”  
“I don’t know sir. I only know what Mr. Dursley said.”  
“I need an auror in on this.”  
Hermione rises from her seat, “Do you mind if I take this case? I mean I was an auror before I started working for you. I can do this!” She wished he would say yes. Her curiosity was clawing at her and it’s been awhile for actual fieldwork.   
Shacklebott smiled at Hermione. Still curious and still looking for an adventure. “Are you sure?”  
“Yes!” Hermione exclaims a little too brightly. She remembers someone died and tried being serious again.  
“Okay then, according to the Statue, I need you to contact a Muggle official.”  
Hermione frowned, “A Muggle official? But we deal with the Prime Minister only.”  
“I stopped dealing with the Prime Minister of Britain after I came to power. This person is far more influential than the Prime Minister.”  
“Who is this person?”  
“People think he is the British Government himself!”

Sherlock picks up the slim wooden stick in his gloved hand. What is this? Not to be used as a killing weapon, definitely. It looked quite old. He takes out his magnifying glass again.  
“So?” Lestrade asks.  
“This is quite old. Twenty years or more. It has been used a great deal. It was most definitely kept in a jacket pocket or something. There are tiny fibers stuck to it,” Sherlock says.  
“And?”  
“And?”  
Lestrade sighs exasperatedly, “Can you tell me what it is?”  
“No,” Sherlock replies in a tiny voice.  
“Awesome.”  
Just then Lestrade’s phone rings. He takes it out and frowns. Blocked number. He knows only one person who would be calling him from a “blocked number”.  
“Hello?” Lestrade says.  
“There will be a woman coming over at your office. Co-operate with her. She is an important official. She can help with this murder.” And disconnect.  
Lestrade sighs again. Sighing is a serious side-effect of dealing with the Holmes boys.  
“That was Mycroft,” Sherlock observes.  
“Yes.” Lestrade nods.  
“Why would he…unless of course this case is not what it seemed.”  
“He said to wait for an official who can help-”  
“And that would be me,” a female voice says.  
Everyone looks up.

Five minutes before  
Mycroft Holmes. What kind of a name was that? Hermione wonders as she takes a handful of floo powder. She is using Shacklebott’s fireplace as this fireplace and Mr. Holmes fireplace were connected.   
Mycroft Holmes was sipping tea and plotting things when his fireplace came to life, engulfed in green flames. Ah, green flames, he thinks excitedly. He stands up and fixes his waistcoat and eagerly waits for the new arrival with a smile plastered on his face.  
Hermione emerges from the flames and gapes. So that is Mycroft Holmes? Powerful person number one? He looked so…normal.  
“Yes yes. Do not judge by the smile. Or face.”  
“How?” Hermione asks with her eyes as round as dinner plates.  
“Ah a little quirk of mine. Now Miss-”  
“Hermione Granger,” she says silently musing that she would not officially be a ‘Miss’ for at least two more weeks.  
“Now please tell how I can be of your assistance.”  
Hermione launched into her pre-prepared narrative. Mycroft listened. He reached for his phone and dialed a number.  
“There will be a woman coming over at your office. Co-operate with her. She is an important official. She can help with this murder.”  
He disconnects and addresses Hermione, “There done. All you have to do is get down to Scotland Yard and ask for Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade.”  
“Thank you.”  
As she prepares to apparate near Scotland Yard, Mycroft says in a slightly humorous tone, “And if you find an annoying person named Sherlock Holmes on its premises, please do refute from cursing him.”  
“Okay,” Hermione agrees. And with a crack she is gone.  
Should he inform his brother or let him figure this out? He chuckles as he decides to go back to plotting things rather than text his annoying little brother. Maybe this puzzle will keep him away from Magnussen.

Sherlock Holmes takes a look at the new arrival. She has light brown curly hair tied in a bun with a few errant curls framing her face and she is quite short. She is pretty, as John would say. He talks out loud while closing in on her like a jaguar, “You work in a high position. You have two children. You are getting a divorce. And you must have been close to a fireplace before coming here. And also in a great hurry.”  
Hermione gaped at him. She had fathomed earlier that Sherlock Holmes might be Mycroft Holmes brother. Now she understood what “annoying” meant. But instead she found herself saying, “Just like your brother. How did you?”  
Sherlock looked at her flushed face with a frown. Her caramel brown eyes were shining with excitement. He clears his throat, “Your clothes are expensive, you dress accordingly to your work environment, and it also shows you hardly get out of your office. Also the expense declares you are not in want of money. You have two kids judging from your locket which must contain pictures. No one keeps those lockets empty on one side. At first I thought husband and child, but I notice the absence of ring on your left ring finger. But I see the enduring indentation of rings and also a vanishing tan line which indicates that you must be getting or gotten a divorce. And I know my ash” He exhales.  
Hermione is in complete awe. Then someone sounding like her voice breathes, “Amazing.”  
No one, besides John, has called him amazing at his personal deductions. He becomes slightly taken aback by her response. She is still gaping at him with amusement in her eyes. She smiles a little and extends a hand towards this gorgeous, six feet tall, glasz eyed brilliant man, “You must be Sherlock Holmes. Your brother warned me about you. My name is Hermione Granger.”  
Sherlock extends his hand too. Her touch is warm. She says, “Though it might be a little insulting to be deduced like that. I don’t mind. Like I can tell that you were in a hurry too, weren’t you?”  
It’s Sherlock’s turn to be a little shocked. “And why would you think that?” he inquired.  
“You buttoned up all wrong,” Hermione says pointing to his chest. He was wearing a black shirt which was tight enough for the buttons to pop out any moment. Hermione wondered how someone so pale and thin has shirts so tight. Not that it was bad or something…Hermione shakes her head. She is here to investigate, not ogle at chests.  
Sherlock looks down and yes, she was right. He did not really notice. A smile creeps up on his face as he says, “Maybe it won’t be so bad working with you.”  
“Ahem, if the mutual appreciation fan club is over,” Lestrade speaks up, “I’d like to get on with this case.”  
Hermione now extends her hand towards Lestrade, “You must be DI Lestrade?”  
“Yep,” Lestrade says shaking hands.  
John comes forward, “I am John Watson, Sherlock’s friend and blogger.”  
Hermione shakes hands with him too. She does not know why but she instantly takes a liking to him. He seems nice enough. “Now can I see the body?”


	6. Chapter Five: Detective has his doubts

Oh Merlin, her face, Hermione sees the hole in her face where nose should be and the slightly unhinged jaw in her mind again and shivers run down her arms as she sits at the DI’s office again after a visit to the morgue. As she remembers listening to Dr Hooper’s voice go on about the mystifying cause of death, it leaves no room of doubt in her mind that the body lying on the slab was indeed killed by the killing curse. And now Lestrade is showing her the wand and Sherlock is keenly watching her. Now, how can she take the wand?  
She takes the wand in her gloved finger. She gingerly touched it. “This w-”, Hermione discreetly coughs, “stick looks old and used. Almost twenty years or more,” yeah she can say that, her own wand looks the same. If that is the case…this witch might be as old as her. This means, maybe they went to Hogwarts together. But damn it her disfigured face just ruled out any way to positively identify her!  
Due to her internal musings, she did not pay much attention to the shocked silence that ensued after she spouted out her deductions out old.  
“Huh,” Lestrade whispered under his breath.  
“That is so weird,” John thought.  
While Sherlock just frowned. He said almost the same things! And then he did observe how she changed a word in the beginning of her deduction. So, she does know what it is. But she did not share it with anyone, he wonders why. His phone pings. It is Billy. “Excuse me,” he says to everyone, “I need to go make a call.”  
As he leaves, Hermione sees her opportunity. What she is going to do is highly illegal, but she knows this is a plausible excuse to use it. She brings out her wand from her hidden jacket pocket and speaks the incantation clearly, “Imperio.”  
Lestrade and John see her taking out a slim wooden stick out from her jacket. They both look shocked, but as they are going to say something about it, their minds go wonderfully blank.  
“Now give me the stick, you guys don’t need it. It’s gone.” Hermione says. Lestrade hands her the wand. Hermione puts the other wand in her bag and softly closes the door as she leaves.  
As she walks down the street trying to get to the alley she apparated in, a strong hand firmly grasps her forearm. She looks up and her heart falls to her knees. It is Sherlock.  
“I saw that,” he growls under his breath.  
“Saw what?” Hermione squeaks. Of course she knows what he saw.  
“Don’t play stupid. I know you’re smart enough.”  
Hermione wrenches herself out from his grip and backs in the alley. She takes out her wand again and mutters, “Stupefy!”  
Sherlock obediently falls down and lies thoroughly stunned.  
“Oh shit,” Hermione mumbles and apparates.

She can worry about Sherlock later as she apparates in Diagon Alley. She needs to find out the owner of this wand first, freak out later. She takes a gulp and marches towards Ollivander’s wand shop.  
She steps in the shop. The sound of the door creaking brings out a middle aged wandmaker. Ollivander was no more, but his favourite apprentice now owned and ran the wand shop. He walks up to the counter and says, “Yes how may I help you?”  
“I wanted to know the identity of the wand’s owner,” Hermione says as he hands over the wand to the man.  
He takes the wand in his hands and inspects it closely, “Hmm, pine wood and dragon heartstring. I reckon it was bought twenty three years ago.”  
Hermione gasps. Then the witch is her age! She shakily asks, “Can you tell me who owned the wand?”  
“Sorry miss,” the wandmaker says apologetically, “My predecessor sold this wand. I can only identify the ones I have sold.”  
“Oh it is quite alright,” Hermione say dejectedly, “Thank you.” As she turns her back to leave, the wandmaker speaks up, “You can try the Prior Incantato spell.”  
Hermione whips around with her face lightening up, “Yeah! You’re right! Thank you!”She leaves the shop with a new purpose. Now to go to the privacy of her apartment and figure this out.   
She apparates in front of her apartment and removes the protection charms and walks in. She drops her bag and removes her kitten heels. She pops her knuckles and takes out the other wand from her bag. She takes a deep breath, “Okay. Pri-”  
There’s a knock on her door. She frowns and feels petrified at the same time. She hopes it’s not him. She gingerly walks up the foyer to the door and peeks through peephole. She curses under her breath. Of course, it is him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N. So I posted another chapter today because it is my best friend's birthday! Happy birthday Noyo!  
> I am gonna take this opportunity to also say a big THANK YOU to everyone who read or is reading my first ever attempt at a fanfic! THANK YOU SO MUCH GUYS! Virtual hugs to everyone!


	7. Chapter Six: Magic

She contemplates opening when Sherlock speaks up, “I know you are there. I called Mycroft and I never call anybody, especially him. He just laughed when I asked him about you. And you did leave me flat on my back in an alley. I don’t know how you did it but you did steal a crucial piece of evidence.”  
Hermione mutters, “Ugh.” Just then her phone rings. She fishes it out of her jacket pocket. “Blocked number”. She frowns as she accepts the call. She says, “Hello?”  
“Sorry for not calling earlier. But you can trust my little brother Miss Granger.” And cut.  
She has a good idea who that is. She just met both Holmes for all of five minutes and it felt like a lifetime. Well, if he thinks it is okay…Hermione opens the door.  
Sherlock rushes in, turns around and fixes his icy blue stare on her. Maybe it is imagination but she feels the temperature drop from that glacial stare. She squares her shoulder and says, “Fine. Are you ready to believe anything?”  
Sherlock narrow his eyes, “I believe in what I see.”  
“Good.” Hermione brushes past him in to the living room. Sherlock follows. It is a moderately sized apartment with a tastefully decorated living room, three bedrooms and an open kitchen area. The most striking feature in this room is one floor-to-ceiling bookcase, literally overflowing with books. A high stack of books were stacked at the case’s foot and he knows that laws of physics dictated that it should fall over but it was still erect.   
Hermione sees him looking at the books suspiciously. Well now is a good time as any, she says, “Ahem,” that gains his attention, “I can identify the victim.”  
Sherlock nods his head slowly. He asks the question that had been haunting him, “You know what that stick is, don’t you?”  
“Yes,” Hermione whispers. She brings out her wand and the other wand. He looks at them both. His brain whirred and his heartbeat raced. He waited for her explanation. She finally speaks up, “It is a wand.”  
“A wand?” he asks, totally incredulous.   
“Wait you said you believe what you see. So shut up and watch.”  
With that she grasps firmly the other wand and says, “Prior Incantato.”  
And then the wand quivered and silver light began to pour out from its tip. Sherlock stood there speechless. His brain is trying hard to come up with a logical explanation for that. Then the silver light morphed in to a wispy animal shape, a weasel to be exact. Then the most astounding thing happened, it started to speak! He heard it clearly, a high pitched female voice, “Draco, I think I am in trouble.” And then the weasel dissolved in thin air.  
Hermione takes a sharp breathe. Draco? The Draco Malfoy? She turns her head towards Sherlock. She almost giggles when she sees his mouth gaping open and his eyes glowing. She is pretty sure he is trying to explain what he saw.   
“How?” he asks, his deep voice hoarse.  
“Magic.” She replies.  
“But-”  
“It is real Sherlock. Your brother knows. He is the connection between this world and our world.”  
Mycroft never told him. But then again he really would not tell him. And it is not really shocking that his elder brother had his fingers in this pie too. He cannot remember being this shocked, ever. Well, except for that night in Magnussen’s office. He steeples his fingers and sits down on the sofa. Magic, he thinks, magic.  
Hermione sits down beside him, keeping a wide berth and letting him take his own sweet time to absorb things. She knows he will have questions, and lots of them. Instead she steals a better glance at this detective. He really is gorgeous. She needs to Google him after he leaves.   
“Okay,” he finally says, “What was that? That thing you did? And who is Draco? You must know this person?”  
Hermione laughs (she has a nice laugh, he thinks), “One at a time! That was Prior Incantato. It is a spell that reveals a wands last spell or cast, which means it shows the last thing the wand owner did with the wand. In this case, she cast a Patronus. I would tell you what it is in details, but for now, know this that she used it to send a message to a man named Draco. And you’re right; I do know someone named Draco. Draco Malfoy, a schoolmate, which brings me to belief that the victim must have been a schoolmate too. And also to further substantiate my theory, this wand is twenty three years old. I bought my wand twenty three years ago too.”  
Sherlock listened to every word she said very attentively. He also took note of her facial reactions and body language—none proved she was lying. Plus he did see what she did. For now, ‘magic’ seemed the best explanation.  
“Okay, then we need to talk to this Draco, then. I want to meet him too,” he says  
“Yes. I will send him a Patronus.”  
“Can you ask him to meet at 221B Baker Street?”  
Hermione nods. He watches in awe as she picks up her own wand and mutters something and the same silver light flows out of her wand. Instead of a weasel, this silver light takes the shape of an otter. She speaks out loud, “Draco, Hermione here. I need to talk to you. Meet me at 221B Baker Street. Please, I beg, wear Muggle clothes.” And then the otter skips out through the open window. “Okay, now we wait for him to reply back.”  
“Okay,” Sherlock shifts, “What is a Muggle?”  
Hermione laughs, “That is the word we, the wizarding community, use to call normal non-magical humans.”   
“Oh.”  
She shifts her position too as she leans back on her cushions, “You know, the thing you and your brother do, tell everything about people after observing them? I am pretty sure you two would have burnt at the stake in medieval times!”  
Sherlock smirks, “Power of observation. No magic there.”  
“I know. It is pretty impressive.”  
“People usually think it is annoying.”  
“Annoying? Yes. But mostly awesome.”  
Sherlock looks at her warm caramel eyes. He can tell she was genuinely impressed. He feels weird at this. Not a lot of people are impressed with him. John is, but he knows John sometimes get impatient. The Woman was, but he was pretty sure she just wanted to seduce him. But Hermione is looking at him curiously, like she is trying to figure him out. He is trying to figure her out too.   
She smiles warmly at him and a smile starts creeping up in his face too, but then a giant eagle owl perches at the window sill and interrupts the moment with a pompous hoot.  
Hermione whips her head around. That is Draco’s owl. Trust him to have an eagle owl. She walks up to it, unties the message from its feet and points it towards the water dish. The owl hops over and takes a deep drink. It ruffles bright copper feathers and looks expectedly at her. Hermione smile, “I don’t need to message back.” The owl blinks once and the spreading its wide wings, flies away.  
Sherlock sees the entire interaction between the owl and Hermione. He says, “The owl seemed to understand you.”  
“Wizards use owls for posts because they are magical.”  
He scoffs, “What?”  
“Yup.”  
He shakes his head, “The message?”  
“Oh yeah,” she says as she opens the note. She reads it aloud, “Dear Granger, I will be there in fifteen minutes. This better be good. Signed, Malfoy.”  
“I take it there’s no love lost between you two.”  
She blushes a little, “Nope. We were school rivals.”  
He notices her blush, but does not comment on it.


	8. Chapter Seven: No More a Jane Doe

Hermione and Sherlock leave her apartment at Mayfair to get to Baker Street. The two companions do not have much conversation as each was stewing in their own thoughts. Sherlock flags down a cab for them. They get in as Sherlock gives the address. He looks out of the window and analyses all that he learnt in the past few hours. They were finally going to ID her. And he had so much to ask Hermione. He wanted to learn more.  
Hermione chews her lips as she sees London flash past her. It was not even ten o’ clock yet and she had enough drama for the day. She just wanted to sit back, maybe call up Rose who is at her parents’ house and read a book. But no, she bargained for this. She wonders why he hasn’t started with the questions yet.   
The cab jerks to a stop after six minutes. They are here. She climbs down and offers to pay the fare when Sherlock waves her off. She looks at the black door with moniker of 221B. He brushes past her and opens the door. She docilely follows him in and up the stairs to his apartment.  
Hermione stifles a snort as she takes in the condition of the flat. To say it was untidy was an understatement. Books and papers strewn on every inch of the carpet. And was that red string connecting even more papers and photos on the wall on her right? She walks up to that. She stares at it when he speaks up from behind, “That helps me think.”  
She turns around and smiles, “I usually jot things down. But I guess it’s easier for you to sit there,” she points at the grey chair, “and look at things.”  
Sherlock frowns, “How did you know the grey chair is mine?”  
“Well it would be difficult from that one,” she says pointing to John’s chair, “and I don’t know why but the grey chair suits your personality more.”  
“My personality? You just met me.”  
“Wasn’t too difficult,” she whispers. Even if Sherlock hears it, he makes no allusions to it as the bell rings.  
“That would be Mr. Draco Malfoy,” Sherlock says.  
Hermione moves and grasps his forearm. Sherlock looks down at her quizzically. He sees trepidation in her eyes. “Umm, you need to know something. Malfoy is kind of racist. He dislikes Muggles, I mean people like you.”  
Sherlock nods as Draco Malfoy enters. He is tall and his body still looked athletic. But he is not a sportsperson by profession. In his free time, then. He had thinning platinum blonde hair, a sharp nose and quick, intelligent grey eyes. He was wearing a very expensive suit. And there was a sneer plastered on his aristocratic face.  
Okay then. Sherlock dons a fake smile, “I am Sherlock Holmes.”  
“I know. I looked up this address before coming. I used the Internet,” Draco shakes hands with Sherlock. Hermione’s eyebrows almost reach her hairline at the mention of ‘Internet’ from this Pureblood. She decides to tell him anyway, “Draco, he knows we are wizards.”  
Draco’s sneer now gets etched into surprise. He does some quick thinking. This Holmes character is a Muggle thing called a ‘detective’ from what he read on the web and Hermione now works for the Minister. So this must be official business. He may not like Muggles, but he squashes his displeasure here. He rubs his face; he does not want to be involved in this. As if reading his thoughts, she comments, “Draco, don’t worry you won’t be affected in any way. I, we, have a few things to ask you.”  
Draco nods. “Alright then. Fire away.”  
Sherlock silently tells Hermione proceed. He prefers to remain in the background and observe this. He was shamelessly curious.  
Hermione takes out the other wand and murmurs, “Prior Incantato.”  
Sherlock had seen this before. But it amazed him again. Malfoy looked unfazed, but of course. He keeps his eyes trained on Malfoy’s thin face. He sees the flash of recognition when the weasel appears and says his name. His pupils get dilated and his breathing pattern changes.  
Draco rasps, “What is this Hermione?”  
Sherlock notices the change in name-calling from her surname to her name with a raised eyebrow. She says softly, “The Muggle police today found a body of an unidentified woman in her late thirties and they found this wand at the crime scene. I contacted you because well, you must know the caster of this Patronus.”  
“I do.”  
Sherlock narrows his eyes as he feels the anti-climax coming while Hermione forgets to breathe.  
Draco runs a finger through his hair, “That is Pansy Parkinson’s Patronus.”  
Sherlock judges from Hermione’s audible gasp that she knew the victim as well. He softly asks, “You knew her too?”  
“Yes,” she whispers with a choked throat, “We were schoolmates. I haven’t seen her in years. Not since-”  
“The Battle of Hogwarts,” Draco finishes. “Me too. I met her just over a couple of years ago only.” He slumps down on the sofa.  
Battle of Hogwarts? What? Sherlock’s brain is whizzing again. He refrains from asking as he had already decided to give Hermione jurisdiction here, on his home turf.  
Hermione asks, “You weren’t in contact with her?” She drags a chair and sits facing him. Sherlock sits down in his chair.  
“No. When most of the Purebloods sided with the new government, the Parkinsons disappeared suddenly. I was supposed to be betrothed to Pansy.” Hermione snorts loudly. Draco laughs, “Jealous Granger?”  
“Shut up ferret,” Hermione retorts.  
Sherlock watches that exchange with mild amusement. So they had a past besides being school rivals. Hermione continues, “When you met her again—tell me about that.”  
Draco sighs, “As usual I wasn’t paying much attention. I did that way back in Hogwarts and I was compelled to do the same again that day.” He rubs his face. “I am sorry Hermione. I vaguely remember what she said. But yes, she did send me that Patronus last night. I thought I was dreaming and went back to sleep.”  
“You insolent git!” Hermione exclaims as rises up from her seat. She furiously paces the room, “You absolute prat! Why didn’t you do something?”  
Draco sits up straight, “Hermione you knew how she was! I did not for one moment think she was in mortal danger!”  
Hermione stops pacing. Yes, Pansy was unpleasant. She was not her most favourite person. But still she was dead and Draco could have done something, anything.  
Sherlock sees Hermione get frustrated and sees the look of pure guilt on Malfoy’s face. Interesting.  
Draco rises and says, “Hermione I will get to you if I remember anything, I swear.” He reaches out and squeezes her hand tenderly. Sherlock smiles to himself, his deduction was spot on.  
Hermione softly nods, “Okay.”  
“Later then. Mr. Holmes,” he nods at the detective. Sherlock stands up and returns the nod. He mutters as he walks to the door, “God, I need a drink.” He briefly glances at Hermione and says, “Hermione I saw the newspaper.”  
Hermione smirks, “Good for you.”  
Draco raises his hands as if in surrender, “I know when I am not needed anymore.” Hermione smiles as she sees the huge grin forming on his face before he turns around and leaves.  
Sherlock says, “That was interesting.”  
Hermione chews her bottom lip. Sherlock notices that. He also realizes she is not wearing any lipstick. She is completely make-up free. Judging from all events, she must be in her late thirties, but she does not look her age at all. Is that because of magic too? Interesting.  
“We need to contact her Slytherin friends,” she says suddenly.  
“Excuse me? Slytherin?” Sherlock has to ask.  
“Oh. At our school, Hogwarts, students are divided into four houses—Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. These are the names of the school founders.”  
“Oh.”  
Before he can ask further questions, he hears John’s footsteps on the stairs. John barges in and shouts, “Sherlock bloody Holmes, where the hell were you? I called you so many times!”   
Sherlock takes out his phone. Ah, twelve miss calls from John. Well, he was busy. He says, “I was busy.”  
John opens his mouth but closes it as he hears a giggle. He turns and sees Hermione Granger giggling with her hand over her mouth. She says, “You guys fight like a married couple.”  
John rolls his eyes, he has lost count how many times he had to do this, “I am not gay. I am actually married to someone else.”  
“Oh,” Hermione controls her hysterics and glimpses a look at Sherlock, who was staring into space with a passive face.  
John shakes his head, “So umm, why are you here?”  
Panic flashes in her eyes and Sherlock shakes off his passivity. He is the one who offers the excuse, “I was interrogating her about Mycroft and she has to leave now.” He marches towards her and places a hand on her back gently coaxing her to move. She acts along and lets him push her out through the door. She barely manages to wave at John Watson. As they reach the stair he replaces his hand on her elbow, this time with much less strength. She instantly misses his firm but gentle pressure on her back but curses her heart which speeds up when he takes her elbows. Uh, no, she thinks, she just met him two (or more, who knows she was not counting) hours ago, she can’t be attracted to this (well, almost) stranger. And she was thirty-four years old, not a teenager!  
As they reach the street, he busies himself to catch a cab for her. Hermione says, “You don’t need to. I can apparate.”  
Sherlock whips around with the question on his face. Hermione softly laughs, “It is a magic thing.”  
He smiles, “Maybe you could show me, someday?”  
“Sure!” Hermione looks down at her feet, “And thank you. I know he is your friend, so thank you for not telling. I appreciate this very much.”  
“I would not say anything to him without your permission.”  
“Thank you.”  
"He doesn't remember what you did."  
"Er...it was a mind control curse."  
“So will you contact her friends?”  
“Yeah I will. But…”  
“But?”  
“I don’t really know her friend circle too well. They all despised me.”  
“Why?”  
She laughs again, “Long story. Give me three days. I need to see my daughter first.”  
“That’s alright.”  
“Can I ask you something?”  
“Sure.”  
Hermione fidgets. This had been hovering at the back of her mind ever since Draco arrived and left. “Why did you not do anything? Like ask Draco questions. You kind of melted in the background.”  
So she noticed. Sherlock feels pleased to finally meet someone who looked smarter than they looked. He explains, “Let’s just say I am grossly inexperienced in this area. I am willing to help because I am extremely curious. Plus I’d like to learn more about your world.”  
Hermione nods as she backs away. “I will be hearing from you in three days?” he asks.  
“Yes,” Hermione replies. And walks away.  
Sherlock just stares at her back with a million thoughts in his head.


	9. Chapter Eight:

Sherlock goes back into 221B. He comes back into his apartment and retreats into his bedroom, slamming the bedroom door behind him. John, who was sitting in his chair, reading, sees all this and decides to leave 221B for awhile because judging by the whole dramatic door slam, Sherlock was not coming out any sooner.  
Sherlock lies down and thinks. He cannot deny this. It was all new to him. He had no prior knowledge of all the things he witnessed today. He was still in shock, knowing there was a whole separate world out there that he had no idea about. He felt at odds. He could ask his brother, but… No, that would not do. He had already called Mycroft once today for Hermione’s address.  
He is aware he has pushed the actual investigation far back and all his focus was on Hermione Granger. He could not underestimate her. Even though she looked ordinary, her eyes kept betraying her. The few moments he spent with her, he realized, she liked this. Yes, as if she had missed doing all this. He had completely forgotten to ask her about her profession. Was she some kind of detective in her world? Maybe she was. Her brain seemed to work not that different from his own. She used her resources like he would use his resources to solve crimes. He makes a mental note to ask her all this three days later.  
And then there was her reaction to his usual behavior. He could figure she was slightly peeved but it did shock him when instead of cursing him, she had complimented him. She did not seem to mind him much.  
What is Battle of Hogwarts? If Hogwarts is a school, why would someone wage battle there? And who names a school Hogwarts? And where was it? Why has no one heard its name? And Draco Malfoy mentioned something written about her in a “paper”. Was she someone famous in her world?  
Sherlock agreed deep in his mind, maybe, just maybe, he was completely out of his league. All his life he had been looking for distractions, because idleness would kill him, and now the greatest distraction ever had knocked on his door with an opportunity he dare not miss.  
He was aware that someone was dead and someone else was probably walking around in London scot-free. Yes, the case was interesting. But Hermione was interesting too. And now he is wondering which to investigate first.  
Just then he hears his phone ring. He grudgingly retrieves it from his coat. It was Lestrade. “Yes?” Sherlock asks in a voice dipped in irritation and boredom.  
“We have an ID on our Jane Doe,” Lestrade says. Sherlock sits up straight, all irritation and boredom forgotten. Lestrade continues, “Dahlia Delacour. She was a British expat living in France. Changed her name from Raffin to Delacour after she married this French bloke. No trace of bloke yet.”  
“Okay,” Sherlock says and disconnects. Dahlia or Pansy? Which is her real name? He needs to contact Hermione.

Hermione apparated to her parents’ house in Sussex. She carried an overnight bag, having changed back at the apartment. She rings the bell. Just in time for lunch.  
Rose Weasley opens the door to welcome her mother. Huge smiles erupt on both of their faces as they hug each other.  
“Mum, I missed you,” Rose says.  
“I missed you too,” Hermione whispers.

Its night now. Right now she gently strokes her eight years old daughters’ vivid red hair and her eyes wander around to her old room. The purple walls have not changed. Nor has the teetering bookshelf. She smiles. The memory of the day she wiped her parents’ memory is still fresh. It was a difficult decision, and even more difficult it was to reinstate their memories. Her parents had forgiven her over time. She had forgiven herself over time.  
She looks down at her daughter again who is asleep. Her heart swells with love but at the same time a lump forms in her throat as Rose’s hair colour reminds her of Ron. She knew she still loved him but not like she did before. And she knew it was the same for him. They thought a second child could make things better. But the fighting just got worse. Breaking off seemed the best decision. She missed Hugo so much.   
She closes her eyes and rests her head on the headboard. Adding to all her misery was this particular case. No, she did not like Pansy Parkinson. But yes, she did not wish her dead. And Draco will forever be a git. But she cannot blame him entirely. Pansy was a menace. She needs to talk to her Slytherin schoolmates. At least with those who are not still in hiding, or in Azkaban.  
Thinking about the case brings her around to Sherlock Holmes. She had managed to Google him after lunch today. He had a website, ‘The Science of Deduction’, which was interesting. And she also came across John Watson’s blog. Plus she also discovered his huge fan base. That man is literally a celebrity! She had a good laugh over all the myriad speculations about “bachelor” John Watson and his seemingly asexual roommate which was punctuated by John’s irritation and Sherlock’s stoic silence.  
But from what she could gather was this—Sherlock Holmes was no ordinary being. He really is clever. Clever enough to bring down a psychopath and then fake his death (she really wants to ask him about that in details). She also understood after she read the ‘A Scandal in Belgravia’ post on Watson’s blog, that he was not too keen on women. She sighs a bit. Well every gorgeous man has his flaws. And Sherlock Holmes was one giant walking flaw with immeasurable genius. Quite a specimen, she muses.  
She yawns softly. Her eyes almost close when a familiar eagle owl hoots on her window sill again.

Draco Malfoy went back to his office after his encounter at 221B Baker Street. To say he was distracted was a gross understatement. His mind was everywhere but at his work. So finally at seven in the evening he left. He arrived at the Leaky Cauldron and ordered a shot of firewhiskey. All day he had been trying to remember. The last time he had seen her was in this very place. The drink arrived as he took another jog down memory lane.  
After two hours and an entire bottle of firewhiskey, he manages to dredge up a name. A man’s name she had repeated multiple times. He stood up and after paying his bill, he apparated back home to send his eagle owl to Hermione with a message.

Hermione rises from her bed. It is Draco’s owl. She feels hopeful. Maybe he remembered something. She unties the message with shaky hands. On the note it is written—  
Granger,  
I remembered a name. She kept taking this guy’s name. Sebastian something.  
Draco M.  
Hermione frowns. Who the hell is this Sebastian now? She needed to inform Sherlock about this development.


	10. Chapter Nine: A New Direction

Sherlock tries calling Hermione. Texting would not do here. He had, after a lot pacing, to seek his brother’s help twice that day (really unpleasant). It had taken Mycroft some time to find her phone number. It was finally nine or thereabouts when he finally gave Hermione’s number to Sherlock.   
She picks up at the second ring. She asks warily, “Hello?”  
“The police identified her.”  
Hermione smiles in spite of herself, “Sherlock?”  
“Obviously.”  
Hermione walks away from the window and perches on the bed with Draco’s message in her hand, “I was almost contacting your brother so I could call you. Draco sent a message.”  
Sherlock grins. Wonderful. They are going somewhere. He starts speaking first, “The police identified her as Dahlia Delacour. A British expatriate living in Paris with her French husband.”  
Hermione frowns. Why would Pansy change her name? And she remembers there are no Pureblood wizards under the Delacour name. She had worked in the Department of Law Enforcement fighting for equal status for Muggle-borns like her for a considerable period, she would know. A staunch Pureblood like Pansy would not marry a Muggle, ever. Looks like Pansy kept a lot of secrets.  
“What did Mr. Malfoy send?” Sherlock asks.  
“He said she kept talking about a man named Sebastian.”  
“Sebastian?”  
“Maybe her husband?”  
“Maybe. We must wait for Lestrade to find her husband.”  
“I agree. And on my part, I will send some feelers out among the Hogwarts crowd.”  
Sherlock asks his question without realizing, “Why name a school Hogwarts?”  
Hermione laughs, “I have no idea!”  
He gives an almost smile.  
John chooses this exact moment to enter the living room and sees Sherlock doing his almost smile thing on the phone.   
“Goodnight Mr. Holmes,” Hermione yawns.  
“Goodnight Miss Granger.” Sherlock disconnects and smiles. Things are getting so much interesting. He hears a sound and looks up to John staring at him with a slightly slack mouth. “What?” Sherlock cannot help asking.  
“You were on the phone with Miss Granger? And smiling. And saying ‘Goodnight’?” John says.  
“Yeah, so?”  
“You never call anyone.”  
“I do.”  
“No you don’t.”  
“I do when it is absolutely necessary.”  
“Huh.” John crosses his arms and shakes his head. This day was epicly weird. First a confused Sherlock, now a smiling Sherlock on the mobile phone, talking to that attractive mystery woman. What is actually going on?  
John remembers his actual reason for coming here, “I am visiting my sister tomorrow. I may be gone for a few weeks. I plan to go the medical conference in Dublin after that.”  
Sherlock stares at him with stony expression. John thinks he must not have heard him, but he could not be more wrong. Sherlock is actually relieved John is leaving. He would not have to hide and lie anymore to his friend.   
John waits for a response but gives up and walks up to his room.

Hermione cannot sleep. She is dead tired but her mind refuses to sleep. She needs morning to come quickly. 

He has heard the rumours on the street. The discovery of a witch’s body in Muggle London. He stops in his tracks. How did this trickle out in the magic circles? He was careful. Very careful, in fact. Shit, he mutters under his breath, he should have searched for the wand. He scoots closer to the group drinking closest to him. They looked like Ministry officials. Yes, they had seen a witch barging in Shacklebott’s office. Yes, he had allowed it. Yes, the Ministers’ Muggle contact allowed it too. Who is the lone witch on this case? He sits up straight, his breathe coming out faster. His blood sizzles. He knows her. He has to find her. And burn her.

Next morning Hermione returns to her apartment at Mayfair with Rose in tow. It is her first time here. Hermione puts down the luggage in her foyer and watches her daughters’ face as she takes in her surroundings.  
Hermione clears her throat, “I know it is not but much. Not like the house we had, but-”  
“Mum,” Rose throws her arms around her mothers’ waist and says, “It is alright. I like it.” She claps her hands, “Which one is my room?”  
Hermione laughs as she shows Rose her room. “We can decorate this as you like it.”  
“Awesome!”  
Just then the bell rings. Hermione wonders who it can be. She leaves her daughter in her new room and walks to the door. She opens it. A tall man in a hooded cloak stands in front of her. She backs away taking out her wand from her jeans pocket. Before she can react, she hears an incantation.  
The fire rushes out of his wand and almost catches on Hermione. She screams, “Finite Incantatum!” But too late. The fire has caught her carpet and roars into a massive inferno. She tries, “Aguamenti!” But nothing happens. She recognizes this, it is Fiendfyre. She hears Roses’ hurried footsteps behind her. She picks up Rose and the little lilac bag she kept in the hall closet, which she thought would never need to use again and apparates with her. She apparates to the first place which pops in her mind.

John says, “Goodbye Sherlock. And please buy the milk.”  
Sherlock makes no affirming sound. John rolls his eyes and leaves.  
As soon as John gets into a cab, a loud crack resonates through the living room. Sherlock moves from the kitchen to the living room. He almost drops his mug.

Hermione opens her eyes. She has apparated here, in 221B Baker Street. She turns around to see a shocked Sherlock staring at her. She puts down Rose on the ground, who still clutches on to her mother. “My daughter, Rose,” Hermione says. “That is Sherlock Holmes,” she says to Rose.  
Sherlock looks down at the little girl. Red hair and freckles, definitely from father, but brown eyes like mother. Hermione says, “Can you turn on the TV? I need to see something.”  
Sherlock obliges. He turns around. Hermione nods, “The news.”  
He puts on the news. He frowns as it reports a recent fire at a Mayfair residence. It is her apartment. He hears her saying, “It is Fiendfyre.”  
He whips around, “What?”  
Hermione speaks with tears threatening to spill, “Someone came to my home and tried killing me. That fire spell has no counter curse.”  
Sherlock nods. He was intrigued. Why would someone want to kill her? He could tell they were distressed. John would probably offer them tea. He says, “Would you like some tea?”  
“Umm yes,” Hermione says. She sits down on the sofa. She pulls Rose down on her lap and gently strokes her hair. Rose starts sobbing. Hermione feels like a good cry too, but she must remain strong for Rose. “It’s okay baby. We will be fine.”  
“Mommy, I am scared.”  
“I am too.”  
“Where will we stay now?”  
“I-”  
“You can stay here,” Sherlock offers. He gets surprised at his own words. Why did he just say that?  
Hermione is no less surprised. She says, “But-”  
Sherlock realizes it is not nice to take back what he said, so he continues, “My roommate is not here. He will be gone for a month. You can stay, with your daughter in his room.” Sherlock puts down the mug on the table and looks expectedly at her. Okay, he can agree to himself, he let her stay so he can study her at close quarters.  
Hermione does not know whether to laugh or cry. She stands up and hugs him. Sherlock stumbles a little. She wraps her around him tight and whispers, “Thank you.”  
Sherlock gingerly pats her back. She smells likes strawberries. He decides he likes it. Wait…what?  
Hermione releases him and smiles. She turns around at Rose and says, “Rose. We will stay here, okay?”  
Rose stands up too and takes a look around. Mr. Sherlock Holmes has as many books as mommy does. She can stay here. She too walks up to him and hugs him around his waist.  
Too much human contact for one day, Sherlock muses as he pats Rose on her head. Rose smiles up at him, “Thank you.” Sherlock oddly, smiles back.   
He notices Hermione clutching a little beaded bag in her hands. He asks as Rose releases him, “What’s that?”  
“A few necessities,” Hermione smirks mischievously.  
“That thing can’t hold anything.”  
“Why don’t you take a look,” Hermione passes the bag to him. His gob smacked face is truly precious when he peeks inside the bag.


	11. Chapter Ten: Accomodation and Stories

So it was decided Hermione and Rose would live in John's bedroom for now as he was not coming back in a month. Hermione would have enough time to look for other accommodation by then.

In spite of what her mother feels, Rose decides to like this funny man with the funny name. She wanders into the kitchen which is a makeshift lab really and starts poking around. Sherlock warily eyes her from his microscope. He is not that disturbed by kids. He thinks they are all right. Little Archie was not that difficult to be around with.

"What is this?" Rose asks picking up a jar filled with a gooey brownish red substance in it.

"Decomposing blood," Sherlock comments, sharply watching her response.

Rose makes a disgusted face, but says anyway, "What is decomposing?"

Ah. Sherlock smiles, "Decomposing takes place after people are dead."

"Oh. So this is a person?" Rose asks once again lifting the jar.

"Yes."

"Cool." As Rose tries putting the jar back on the counter, her hand brushes a test tube stand. It falls to the floor.

Sherlock rises and frowns at the little girl. Rose looks up at him, all scared. He opens his mouth to reprimand her but does not say anything. He can always replace the test tubes.

The sound of glass shattering on the floor brings Hermione down from their room. She takes one look at the scene and puts on her 'mommy-is-mad' face. Sherlock notices it and puts up his hand, "No it is okay. I can get new test tubes."

She turns to him, "No it is not. I am so sorry. Here let me help."

And the Sherlock looks on as she takes the wand out her jeans and says, "Repairo" and the shattered glass tubes become whole again and levitates back to its prior position on the counter. He is totally speechless.

Hermione smiles as she puts back her wand inside her pocket. Rendering the detective speechless was becoming her favourite thing faster than you can spell his name. He finally speaks, "Is there anything magic can't do?"

She tilts her head and thinks a bit. Then she remembers the Resurrection Stone and softly says, "Well it can't bring back people from the dead."

Sherlock does not say anything. He senses there must be a story behind that sad wistful expression on her face.

Hermione grins, "You aren't accustomed to thank people are you?"

Sherlock tries to say something but Hermione cuts him off, "It is okay. I was just kidding. I am the grateful one here." She pops her knuckles and says, "Well I was wondering if we could go back to my apartment to-"

"To look for clues?" Sherlock interjects.

"Well yes, I can't take Rose along."

"You can leave her with Mrs. Hudson."

"Who is Mrs. Hudson?" Rose asks.

"Your landlady? She doesn't know I am here, does she?" Hermione asks.

Sherlock shakes his head. Hermione flails her hands, "Sherlock she requires to know!"

"Oh," Sherlock still failing to understand.

Hermione calls Rose and signals Sherlock to show her where Mrs. Hudson lives. He takes her. He knocks on Mrs. Hudson door. She opens at the second knock.

"Oh Sherlock! Do you-" she says and then notices the two strangers standing behind her eccentric tenant. She raises her eyebrows a little as she sees the rather attractive brunette and the cute little red-haired girl.

Sherlock says, "This is Miss Hermione Granger and that is her daughter Rose Weasley."

"Oh hello dears," Mrs. Hudson smiles, "Come in. I just put a kettle on!"

She ushers the three of them in her flat. Hermione is quite reassured as she looks around the landlady's flat. It is homey and cheerful. Sherlock says, all prepared with his lie, "Miss Granger here is my client. Somebody tried attacking her and her daughter this morning. So she will be staying with me till the case is solved."

Hermione dons her most sheepish face and smiles at Mrs. Hudson, who smiles back at her and says, "Oh that's just awful! How can I help dear?"

Hermione says, "Well, Mr. Holmes wants to go over to my place to look for clues and I can't take my daughter with me. So I was wondering-"

"Oh no problem," she extends her hand towards Rose who takes it smilingly. She has decided to like this nice old woman who slightly reminds her of grandma Weasley. Rose looks up at her mother and silently conveys that she is alright with this.

Hermione gets her daughter's message. Sherlock exits and goes upstairs. She is leans down to hug her daughter. Rose throws her hands around her mother's neck and whispers, "I will be okay mommy."

"I know honey," her voice drops another octave as she continues, "Just remember no magic okay?" Rose almost levitated a cookie jar last week, unintentionally, of course.

Rose nods and eyes Sherlock who has come back. She leaves her mother and walks up to him. She slips her small hand in his larger ones and says, "Take care of mommy for me, promise please?"

Sherlock for a moment does not know what to say. He does not do sentiments. Or promises. He just nods his head once. That seemed to satisfy her. Rose skipped back to Mrs. Hudson's side.

Hermione smiles at this exchange while Mrs. Hudson eyes gleam with a certain hidden knowledge which comes with age and wisdom. She is no consulting detective but she can always tell.

"Here," Sherlock pushes something in Hermione's hand as they stand at the entrance to 221B. She looks down and giggles softly. It is her jacket. She had forgotten, but he had not. She wants to say thank you but he is already on the road trying to hail a cab. What an odd person.

They get a cab and the five minute journey is silent. Like the last time, each is lost in their own thoughts. Except for this time, they are both thinking the same thing. Who attacked them and why?

As they reach their destination, they get a glimpse of her apartment building. The entire wing was burned. Hermione steps down from her cab and walks towards her still smoking apartment complex. Her flat was completely destroyed. The fire had spread out to the flats besides her, no major casualties so far as by then the intensity of the inferno had died down.

The firemen were still there. Her landlord was talking to some other tenants. He spots Hermione and shouts out her name. Hermione turns towards the shout. Sherlock hears it too. She walks up to her landlord, who looks immensely relieved, and says, "Oh thank God you weren't there! Where were you?"

Hermione opens her mouth, but Sherlock comes forward and slips his hand through hers. The sudden contact surprises her. She whips her head to stare at him. He says, "She was with me."

The landlord grins, "Your boyfriend?"

Hermione stammers, "Uh y-yeah." The internal screaming reaches the banshee level. He is holding her hand! And he now is rubbing his thumb in circles to behave like the pacifying boyfriend he is pretending to be. Oh Merlin, Hermione cries silently. This IS not the right time to think about the strange shivers she is getting all of a sudden.

The landlord continues, "The firemen are at your place, trying to figure out the fire source."

"Oh," Hermione says knowing well enough, they will never find the source.

"You have a place to stay, right?" he places his hand on her Hermione's shoulders

Sherlock speaks on her behalf in a low voice as he narrowly eyes the hand on her shoulder, "She is staying with me."

"Okay," he pulls back his hand. Hermione smiles apologetically. She rubs her face and says, "I will wait in Bean It Up then. If anyone asks for me, call me." She says to him and tugs on Sherlock's hand, "Come on."

They start walking towards the café, hand in hand. He finally says, "The landlord."

"Yeah, he's a harmless flirt, nothing more."

"Hmm."

"They will never find the source of the fire," Hermione says softly, smartly ignoring the tone of his voice.

"Why not?"

"The man used a very dark fire curse. It is called Fiendfyre. It is impossible to stop it, no counter curses work. The last time I saw it…" Hermione stops.

Curiosity rears its head at him, "The last time?"

"I have had a dangerous life Sherlock."

"I'd like to know."

They were at the café entrance now. Hermione takes back her hand and pushes the door using both of her hands, "That's why you let me stay, didn't you? So you could know? Because not knowing is killing you."

Sherlock smiles again at her correct deduction. They enter the shop. The morning crowd was gone, leaving only a few loiterers around. She guides him to a seat at the back. He understands, she has more things to say, hence the privacy.

They sit down as Hermione asks, "Am I right?"

Sherlock says, "Yes. You are."

"I won't complain. I do need a roof over my head. So thank Merlin for your curiosity masked by your generosity." Hermione grins.

Sherlock finds himself grinning back. And this surprises him. He is not the grinning kind. But her honesty and brusque behavior was really refreshing. He places his elbows on the table and leans in, "So you were saying?"

"You have enemies right?"

"Yes," Jim Moriarty's dead eyes flash in his head.

"We had one too."

"We?"

"My best friend, Harry Potter, my soon-to-be-ex-husband, Ron Weasley and yours truly had to defeat the biggest threat to the wizarding community. His name was Voldemort and he was pure evil. It reads like a novel, my teenage life. Running and hiding from villains. Fighting and bleeding. Losing and finally winning." Hermione stops as a lump forms in her throat as she remembers all the losses they had to suffer. All the lives lost.

Sherlock watches her carefully. He notices the melancholy in her eyes. He now understood why she was enjoying this case so much. If her teenage life was filled with adventure, it was only normal she would look for the thrill of the chase again. And he knew that thrill was the best high ever. They were almost the same. Loss, pain, heartbreak, defeats—they have both seen it, felt it and refused to be beaten down by it. He understands. Unconsciously his hand reaches out and covers her small fist.

Hermione is jerked from her reminiscence as she feels a warm and calloused touch on her fist. She turns to find Sherlock's hand on hers. She blinks at him. She sees a comprehension dawning in his ever colour-changing eyes. He understands. How…wait the two years he was 'dead'. He was running and hiding and counting his losses too, wasn't he?

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but gets interrupted when the waitress saunters towards them and says, "Order?"

The moment is lost and Sherlock realizes his hand was on hers. When did that happen? He frowns. He says gruffly, "Black coffee, two sugars."

Hermione sits up straight and clears her throat (and mind), "One latte. No sugar and any muffin of your choice."

The waitress smiles as she jots down their order. As she walks away she thinks, such a beautiful couple.

 

Draco Malfoy was getting late. As he apparated in the alley beside his office on Diagon Alley, he thinks he saw a shadow creep up on him. He turns around. His eyes cannot believe what he sees. Before he can utter a word, the shadow raises his hand and takes out something metallic and plunges it in his stomach.

The shadow sees as Draco's face gets carved into a mask of shock and fear. The shadow smiles as he sees him fall to the ground, the blood slowly seeping out of his expensive shirt. The shadows apparates with a single thought, yeah he won't be happy but Draco Malfoy was a personal score he had to settle.

What he does not get to see is the woman who apparates their soon after and what he does not get to hear is her blood-curdling scream.


	12. Chapter Eleven: A New Turn

The door of the café opens. The café was L-shaped and they were seated at the very back. Sherlock, who was facing the entrance sees the person coming and rolls his eyes.  
Hermione sees Sherlock rolling his eyes at something or someone behind her. She turns around and feels very very confused. It is Mycroft Holmes.  
Mycroft struts over their cozy nook and addresses Hermione with a nod and Sherlock with, "Hello, brother mine."  
Sherlock simply grunts. He had a good idea why his brother, who hated physical activity, was here. The waitress returns with their order. Mycroft dons his most crowd-pleaser smile and asks, "Can I have a chair" he eyes the nametag, "Carmen?"  
Carmen forehead crinkles. Well, whatever, none of her business. She brings a chair, anyway.  
"Now," Mycroft begins as he sits down, eyeing the warm blueberry muffin, "Miss Granger, what happened?"  
"We-"  
"Still on a diet brother?" Sherlock did not miss the look he gave to the muffin.  
Mycroft gives his best I-shall-kill-you smile, "Still sneaking out for a smoke?"  
"I have nicotine patches."  
"I am exercising."  
Hermione licks her lip and sips her coffee as she waits out for the brothers to end their death glare competition. She cannot believe the British Government and the consulting detectives were such…children. When it seemed none would back down, Hermione coughs, "Boys."  
That stopped them. Mycroft turns his attention to Hermione again. She puts down her coffee and says, "Someone cursed my home. A Fiendfyre curse. Its-"  
"A dark curse," Mycroft says shocking both his brother and Hermione.  
Hermione asks, "How?"  
"I read some books and your Minister is most helpful."  
"Oh," Hermione says, "Well, I think someone doesn't want me to investigate Pansy's death."  
"Hmm, that is the most obvious thing. Well do not worry Miss Granger; I have contacts in the Fire Department. I can make them write this as an electric mishap. This will create some sensation in your community." He chuckles.  
Hermione blushes furiously. Sherlock looks confused, "Why?"  
"Hermione Granger is a war hero. A celebrity. I already knew who she was when she came out of my fireplace. Don't judge her by her face. She is the brightest witch of her age. A fire in her home will be news."  
Hermione blushes even more and suddenly her chipped nail polish on her fingers resting on her lap becomes the most interesting ever. She still hated the fame and unnecessary adulation. She helped win a war, yes. A very ugly war. There is no glory in war.  
Sherlock look at her sharply. He sees her discomfort. He wonders why.  
"Well, I must be going," he rises. Hermione stands up too and grasps his hand and says, "Thank you."  
"It is quite alright. Good morning." With that he leaves with one last look at his brother who has not bothered to bid him farewell. Well, Mycroft thinks as he walks towards his car, better he remains distracted.  
Brightest witch of her age—that explains things, Sherlock muses, a war hero. Hermione stares everywhere but at him as she takes a bite of her muffin. She wanted to tell him gradually. All thanks to Mycroft Holmes. Suddenly her phone rings. She takes it out. It is Ginny.  
"Hello Ginny," Hermione says, knowing very well where this conversation is headed.  
"I saw it on the news! Are you okay? Is Rose okay?" Ginny almost screams into the speaker  
"Yes. We are."  
"Where are you now? Do you need a place to stay? What happened?"  
"Ginny," Hermione laughs a little, "I am at a friend's place. It was an electrical mishap!"  
"Okay. Call me if you need anything, okay?"  
"Yes ma'am."  
"Take care. And give my love to Rose."  
"Of course. Goodbye."  
"Bye," Ginny disconnects.  
"Why did you lie?" Sherlock asks, "That was a wizard friend, right?"  
"Yes," Hermione says, her shoulders sagging a little, "I f I told her the truth, the entire Weasley clan and Harry will pounce to protect me and Rose. And honestly, their affection is well-meant, but I can't drag them in this situation, can I?"  
Sherlock nods. He gets the lying done to protect friends and family.

They go to her burned flat. Hermione wanted to cry. She just moved here two months ago. She could have died. Rose could have died. She shudders at the near miss.  
Sherlock walks in first with a sense of purpose. He takes one look at the damage and comes to the conclusion, "So dark magic is really bad."  
"Yes." Hermione nods. She sighs, "Nothing here then. I guess we should go back."

They get back to Baker Street. It was close to lunch time. Hermione had spotted the meager amount of food he had. So she made him take her to the nearest grocery. "Don't you eat or something?" she had asked exasperatedly.  
"Not on a case. Digestion gets in the way," he had replied.  
She had rolled her eyes and muttered, "Oh Merlin, he is truly insane."  
Sherlock had heard it.

Hermione collects Rose from Mrs. Hudson, who kept saying what an absolute angel she was. As she was talking to Hermione, Sherlock calls from upstairs, "Hermione!"  
"What?" Hermione shout back.  
"You better come upstairs."  
Hermione crinkles her forehead. What is it? Her question gets answered soon as she walks in. Her pet owl is perched on the table, busy cleaning his claws. Sherlock is looking at the brown barn owl with utmost suspicion.  
Rose squeals and reaches out to pet the owl, "Hey Socrates! He found us mummy, he is so smart!"  
"He sure is," Hermione grins. As she looks at Sherlock her grin erupts into a giggle. "Don't worry, he is a nice owl."  
Sherlock is not convinced. Hermione grabs his coat sleeve and says, "I need Socrates to send letters and ask around, you know."  
Sherlock looks down at her. Well, okay then. "Okay," he mumbles.  
Hermione goes into the kitchen and summons a bowl. She fills it with water and puts it on the window sill. Socrates hops over and takes a long drink. Hermione sits down at the table and starts writing letters after she drudges an empty notepad from his clutter. She chews on the pen. "What should I write?"  
He, dragging a chair, comes and sits beside her. He steeples his fingers and says, "You can write that you are looking for Pansy on behalf of the Ministry?"  
"Why?"  
"She changed her name, right? I believe she must have done something to go change her name and home."  
"Sounds alright."  
Sherlock leans down as she starts writing the letter. Her handwriting is very clear and concise. A bit scholarly perhaps. Hermione is acutely aware of Sherlock breathing down her neck. No, it is not nearly uncomfortable. It is just well…disconcerting. She felt the hair on her neck stand up and thank Merlin for the sweater, or else the goosebumps on her hand would have been only too visible.  
She still smells like strawberries and summers. Is that magic, too? Sherlock wonders. He stops and goes over to what he was thinking just now. Why is he noticing how she smells like? It is not important to know. He stands up and walks into the kitchen. He sits at his microscope. And his eyes are on her.  
Hermione senses his absence. She shakes her head. Finally, her letter is finished. She takes out her wand and taps on the letter, "Geminio." Duplicates of the letter are made instantly. She collects them all and writes the name of each addressee separately. Then she walks up to Socrates and ties all the messages and strokes his feathers, promising him bird seed when he comes back. Socrates hoots softly and takes off.  
Sherlock quickly averts his gaze as Hermione turns to look at him. She walks over and stands beside him. She laughs a little, "I have watched enough crime shows to know that you're supposed to put a glass slide underneath." She points at the empty space where a glass slide should be inserted in the microscope.  
Sherlock curses internally for being found out. He decides to be angry instead of embarrassed and gives her his best furious icy stare. She just smiles back with her warm brown eyes, challenging him. Suddenly Rose speaks up from the window, "Mum, I am hungry."  
Eye contact gets broken. Sherlock sees this as a perfect opportunity to scram. Hermione gets busy in the kitchen. She sees him leave and wonders what that was about and should she make him something.

Sherlock decides to head to Barts. Maybe he can go whip another dead body. He walks in Molly's lab and spots her and Lestrade in her office, having lunch. He smiles, how he loves interrupting people on their dates. He flings open the door with a booming "Lestrade!"  
Lestrade chocks on his sandwich. Molly jumps a little but collects herself. Lestrade, after taking a long drink from his bottle says, "Hello to you too. You know I was coming over to Baker Street."  
Sherlock raises an eyebrow. Good thing he came here then, explaining Hermione's presence in his flat to Lestrade would have been troublesome. Sherlock asks, "Why?"  
"I found Mr. Delacour. A Jacques Delacour. He is currently residing six feet underground in Montmartre Cemetery."  
Sherlock's head snaps up from the file he had been reading. "Cause of death?"  
"Heart attack, even though he had no history of heart problems."  
Same as Pansy, Sherlock muses but does not say it out loud. "I am taking this file."  
"Bu-you know, fine, take it."  
"Did you learn anything else about Dahlia?"  
"Not much. She owned a medicinal plant and herb shop on Rue Mouffetard. She was thirty-four years old and she married this bloke ten years ago. They had no children."  
Sherlock nods and leaves the way he came. Like a storm.  
Lestrade looks at Molly, "I am sorry."  
Molly smiles and places her hand over his, "What for? We know Sherlock Holmes and knowing him means be prepared to have him storming anywhere, anytime."

Two days passed without any occurrences. Hermione and Rose had settled down nicely. Ginny had came to visit after she managed to wheedle out the address out of Hermione. Ginny had taken one look at Sherlock and told Hermione exactly what she felt. Yes, Sherlock had deduced her too, which pissed her off a little. But her advice to Hermione still had her blushing and smiling. "Look at those sharp cheekbones! And that hair! That face should be made illegal. Holy hotness. And that voice, why aren't you a puddle yet? I would have jumped his bones by now! What are you doing? Oh, don't tell Harry this." Hermione was glad Sherlock was out of earshot during Ginny's ranting. Hermione had to tell Ginny thrice that no, he was not interested in women and no, he did not look that interested in men either ("Such a waste," Ginny had sighed) but she just met him, she would not know.  
Sherlock was busy in another triple homicide and Hermione was busy at the Ministry. This case was not forgotten but both chose to wait it out. Hermione hardly saw him and when she did he would barely talk or move or sleep. At first she was truly shocked by this behavior but after a very enlightening chat with Mrs. Hudson, she understood him a little better and kept a wide berth when he was silent and lying on the sofa. Sometimes when Rose would chatter after she returned from her school, Hermione would discreetly cast a silencing charm around him.  
On the third day, Socrates flies in. Hermione is at the school, picking Rose up. Sherlock is home. He eyes the owl. The owl glares at him. Sherlock glares back. He tries detaching the message which is tightly clamped in his beak. As soon as Sherlock tries to, Socrates tries clawing him. Sherlock tries again, Socrates claws. Sherlock decides to send a text then.  
Your owl is here. He attacked me.  
-SH  
Hermione gets the message. She giggles. Rose turns and asks, "What is so funny mum?"  
"Socrates scratched Sherlock!"  
Roses joins her mother and guffaws.

Hermione walks in and the scene in front of her makes her want to laugh out loud. Socrates is perched on the table, his large yellow eyes boring into Sherlock while the man in question is seated at a comfortable distance, glaring back.  
"He doesn't like men," Hermione grins.  
"I didn't know that." Sherlock says indignantly.  
Hermione goes over to Socrates who hoots softly and lets Rose stroke his head as Hermione detaches the message. Rose lays down the birdseed, which the bird pecks at enthusiastically.  
The letter is from Parvati Patil, Hogwarts very own former gossip goddess. Pleasantries aside and regrets of not knowing aside, the next thing that Hermione reads is a tidbit of news Parvati shares that almost stops her heart. She turns around and says, her voice shaking, to Sherlock, "Draco is in a hospital. He was stabbed."

Sherlock is still recovering from the shock as he entered St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. They entered through what was a very derelict shop named Purge and Dowse, Ltd. And Hermione spoke to an apparently inanimate dummy. And the inside…  
Hermione walks up to the Reception and asks for Draco Malfoy. She gets directed to the new wing on fourth floor. Hermione turns around for Sherlock who is busy staring at a woman puking out slugs in a bucket. The other slug-puking incident brings a sad smile on her face. She mutters, "Ron once puked slugs."  
"Is he all right?" Sherlock had to ask.  
"Of course he is, now come on," Hermione say as she drags him by grasping his hand.  
Sherlock lets her drag him, her slim, small, warm fingers entangling with his own. He is not minding it on bit. She lets go only when they reach their destination. A tiny part in him misses her warmth, but the bigger, logical part squashes it down.  
They enter a room where Healers (Hermione had informed him in the lift) in lime green outfits where hovering around, casting spells. Draco looked even paler, but he was conscious and talking to this blonde woman. The woman turns around and scowls at Hermione. Hermione says awkwardly, "Hello Astoria."  
"Hermione." The blonde woman says as if taking her name is like a bitter pill in her mouth.  
Draco sits up and smiles, "Hey Granger. Mr. Holmes." Then he turns to Astoria and says in a firm voice, "You can wait outside, I need to talk to them."  
"But Draco!" Astoria cries.  
"Please," even though Draco requests, his grey eyes glint as hard as granite. Sherlock deduces they are married but separated. He had previously noticed the ring line on his finger, but Astoria is still wearing her ring. And they do not really like each other.  
Astoria leaves with a soppy glance at Draco and a venomous glance at Hermione. At Sherlock, she looked twice and wondered why this gorgeous man is with that woman.  
"What happened?" Hermione drags a stool and sits down. Sherlock looks for a stool but finds none. Hermione sees it and conjures a stool for him. He eyes it suspiciously. Draco laughs, "Don't worry, Hermione is the best at magic that there is!"  
Sherlock sits down as Hermione smirks. He smirks back. Draco watches this exchange with amusement. "Mr. Malfoy, if you could-" Sherlock says.  
"Sure." And Draco then launches into his narrative as to what happened to him.  
After he finishes, Sherlock asks, "So you must have seen who attacked you."  
"Yes," Draco whispered.  
Hermione and Sherlock sit up and straight. They exchange a meaningful look. Both had been wondering if Draco's attacker was Pansy's killer.  
Hermione leans closer, "Who was it?"  
"Blaise. Blaise Zabini."  
Sherlock does not understand why Hermione gasps and puts a hand over her mouth or why Draco leans farther into his pillow, looking absolutely defeated.


	13. Chapter Twelve: Some New Revelations

"Blaise Zabini was killed sixteen years ago, during the battle. We found his body. He had fallen from a tower, his face smashed. Draco had identified him by the heirloom ring he used to wear. He was surely dead. Draco and his other Slytherin friends even gave him a funeral."  
Hermione had told him the story on their way home from the hospital. Sherlock did not have much to say in this. If he could fake his death without using magic, he was pretty sure this Zabini person could fake his death much better. He had seen the capacities of what magic can do in the five days he had known her. He wondered what else was there.

It is the ninth of September. She gets officially divorced in three days. She was still, in every legal terms Mrs. Hermione Granger Weasley. It is a rainy Tuesday. Rose is sprawled on the floor, doing her Muggle school homework. Hermione is curled up on the sofa, rereading Sense and Sensibility for the hundredth time. Sherlock is out there, doing who knows what.  
Suddenly, when it was nearing twilight, the door bell rings. Hermione sits up straight. Who could it be? She prays it's not the DI or John Watson. She pushes aside the curtain and curses under her breathe. It is Ron. There is no mistaking the red hair. She notices he has brought Hugo along. She sees as Mrs. Hudson lets him in. she can hear their footsteps approaching. She leaves the window side and opens the door. She picks up her book again and tries being her best nonchalant self.  
Ron makes his way upstairs with his son, who is only too excited to see his mother and sister after two weeks. He pushes open the ajar door and spots Hermione curled with a book in hand. Rose looks up and squeals, "Daddy!" and runs up to his outstretched hands. Hermione rises up from her seat and smiles as Hugo launches himself in her arms. She smiles at Ron too. Ron smiles back. He runs his fingers through his hair and says, "You did not tell me, I had to learn it from Ginny."  
"I am sorry. In between moving here and looking for a place to live, I had completely forgotten." Oh and someone tried to kill me and Draco; and Pansy's dead, Hermione adds in her head.  
"Okay. All right. How are you?"  
"I am fine. Rose is fine too."  
Rose quips, "Yep I am fine!"  
The next thing that happened was the thing Hermione feared the most. Sherlock Holmes saunters in talking aloud, "The robbery and murder were dead simple. I mean Lestrade can be so-" He stops as he sees the two new people in his flat. It takes him less than a second to deduce that this was the ex-husband and that was their son (red hair, brown eyes again).  
Ron stands there perplexed, "What? Who is this?"  
Sherlock does his whole fake smile routine again, "I am Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective. Your ex-wife and your daughter are staying with me till they find new accommodation. And your girlfriend wears too much lipstick."  
Hermione does a double take, "Lipstick? Girlfriend?"  
"Yes. On the inside of his collar I see a red smudge. Now Mr. Weasley isn't wearing any lipstick," he turns towards Hermione, "and neither are you."  
Ron starts turning a mean shade of red. He growls, "Huh. Really I am the one to blame." And with that he throws a recent issue of the Daily Prophet at Hermione. She catches it and the first page picture make her want to laugh and cry at the same time.  
It is a picture of that day when Sherlock had held her hand and they had walked to the café. The caption read 'BRAIN OF GOLDEN TRIO MOVES ON WITH THIS MUGGLE HUNK?' The writer if this article is no surprise. Rita Skeeter  
Hermione sits back on the sofa, massaging her temples. "Ron. You know how Skeeter is. Would you still try to believe her?"  
Sherlock reaches over and snatches the paper from her hand. Even though he cannot see the moving pictures, he can read the captions. Something akin to hatred towards this ginger gentleman rises in his stomach. He says in a low voice, "He is not here to check your well-being. He is here to see if this," he stabs the paper, "is true. He had his girlfriend for awhile. He just wanted to check if you had moved on like he has because he was feeling guilty? No no, not that. He was planning to tell the world he has a girlfriend before you found yourself a nice man. After all, I had read somewhere, the best revenge is moving on."  
Two things happen at once. One, Hermione rises up, ready to set birds at Ron's head again and two, Ron gets very pissed off at Sherlock's correct deductions, so he punches him.  
Sherlock falls. Rose gasps. Hermione becomes immobile. Hugo starts crying. Pandemonium much?  
"Ron!" Hermione shouts  
"Dad!" The two children shout.  
Sherlock is still on the ground, his nose bleeding and his vision slightly hazy. Damn, Ron Weasley packs a mean punch. A bunch of unruly curls falls on his face, and a pair of warm, scared brown eyes look down on him as his vision clears little by little. He feels her fingers cradling his face and his name being called out by her, "Sherlock? Sherlock? Can you hear me?"  
When he moves to sit up straight, she holds him up by throwing an arm around his shoulder. He hears her speak, "Go away Ron. How dare you do that? Sherlock gave us shelter when we needed it the most. And you made Hugo cry."  
Ron turns around and sees Hugo's tear stained face. He feels really ashamed now. He speaks slowly, "I am sorry."  
Sherlock says, "It is okay. I have been punched a lot."  
Hugo runs over to his mother and buries his head in her neck, "I wanna stay with mummy tonight."  
Ron feels his heart breaking. Hermione says, "It is alright. I will call Ginny to come pick him up tomorrow. See you on Friday."  
Ron nods. Rose goes and hugs her father.  
After Ron leaves, Hermione tells her daughter to take Hugo upstairs and keep him engaged. She helps Sherlock get on his feet. He slumps down on the sofa. Hermione sits beside him and says, "This might hurt."  
"Wha-" before he can finish, Hermione takes out her wand and says, "Episkey." Then he feels the cartilage in his nose snap back to place with a crunching noise. To say it did not hurt, would be lie of the year. His eyes sting. She senses his discomfort and conjures a tissue.  
She says, "I am so sorry for that."  
He says, "You don't have to be. I really have been punched a lot."  
She laughs, "I really should start looking for a new place. Or else this speculations will never stop."  
He realized—no okay, that tiny part in him realized—he did not want her to go yet, so he says, "You can talk with Mrs. Hudson about that."  
"Mrs. Hudson?"  
"Yes. I heard 221C is still unoccupied."  
"What?" Hermione asks. What is he talking about?  
"There's another flat no one wants to take because it has a damp problem."  
Hermione wipes the blood off his chin and realizes, "So you knew a flat, right here, was empty and yet you don't tell me. Why?"  
Sherlock wants to say he let her stay because she finds her interesting. Instead Hermione answers her own question, "You let me stay here so you could study me?"  
Sherlock expects another punch because prior experiences have taught him, people did not like being treated as subjects of study. He sees her forehead crinkle. But she does not punch him. She understands his curiosity; she was just like that once upon a time. A sudden wave of empathy and adoration washes over her. Hermione smiles brightly, which baffles him and kisses him on the cheek. A brief brush on his sharp cheekbones.  
Sherlock loses his ability to talk. The soft touch of her lips leaves him utterly speechless. She sits back and smiles at him, all awkward and embarrassed. She stands up and mumbles, "Uh, I rather warm some milk for Hugo."  
Hermione disappears into the kitchen. Sherlock is still on the sofa, his hands over the spot where she had kissed him. He tries to ignore the tingle on his skin and the lingering smell of strawberries. He is Sherlock Holmes and nothing shakes him. And yet the witch's affectionate kiss on his cheek shakes him deep inside. He does not understand why his heart is beating too fast. Stupid muscular organ, he breaks off his stupor and donning his coat, leaves.  
Hermione comes out of the kitchen. She fervently hope he is not there, because well she is embarrassed by her impulsive action and still wishes he is there because she wants to see his reaction. She does not know whether to exhale in relief or gasp in regret when she sees the sofa empty. Oh well.

After the children fall asleep, Hermione decides to talk to Mrs. Hudson. She felt too exposed all of a sudden. Then she hears him playing the violin. She did not understand classical music, but the melody is beautiful. She lets the music lull her to sleep.

Next day, Hermione calls Ginny and with her help, moves into 221C. A tearful farewell to her son later, she starts with the anti-damp protection charms. She sees a lot of potential in this flat. She bets she and Rose can make this flat their home.  
Sherlock nods and helps, but inside he feels a little bit sad. And he does not want to analyze why he feels like that. He knew she was the reason they had milk in the fridge. He knew she did some kind of magic around him when he was in his mind palace and Rose would talk and talk. He knew the last few days were not that bad.

A day later when they move into the flat and Hermione arranges the rent with Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock receives a message tied on an owl. This was a different owl. He unties it and takes it downstairs to Hermione.  
Hermione takes it and reads it. Sherlock notices the changes in her expression from surprise to disbelief to excitement. Before he could even ask, Hermione says, "This is from Millicent Bulstrode. A schoolmate. She says she can give us information about Pansy." She looks confused. Sherlock asks, "What is the problem?"  
"I never wrote to her." Hermione shakes her head, "Never mind, she asked me to meet her at The Leaky Cauldron on the thirteenth. Do you wanna go?"  
Leaky Cauldron? He has never heard of that place. And he knew his map of London. As if reading her thoughts, Hermione grins, "It is a magical bar. Witches and wizards there galore. Muggles aren't aware of its existence"  
Sherlock smiles like a child being promised to be taken to the candy store. Hermione laughs at his expression and takes it as a positive response.

Today is the court date. Sherlock had seen her leaving from his window all dressed in her best formal outfit. Hermione displayed none of the nervousness and melancholy she was feeling inside but Sherlock could somehow sense it from that distance. He picks up his violin.  
The session was brief. Thank goodness for that, Hermione prays. She is married no more. She is Miss Hermione Granger again officially. After some lunch at the Potter household, Hermione finally arrives at Baker Street. Sherlock is playing the same melody from that night. As she stands at the foot of the stairs, Mrs. Hudson comes out and says, "Been playing since you left. God knows what he is up to now."  
He hears her footsteps on the stairs. He does not stop playing. This is his composition. He has not named it yet. He hears the door creaking open.  
Hermione stands at the door, completely breathless at the beauty of the music and the beauty of the man playing the instrument. He looked so different with his eyes closed and immersed in the music. Much softer, more human and a little ethereal. Hermione would hate to interrupt him. She turns to go downstairs when he speaks up, "You had your court date today."  
She says, "Yeah. No more Mrs. Weasley."  
"Hermione Weasley does sound awful."  
Hermione laughs. She says, "Do you want some tea?"  
Sherlock smiles slightly. He really likes it when she laughs.

It is the thirteenth today. The day to meet Millicent. Hermione wraps a scarf as she wonders. She locks the door behind her. Rose is at the Burrow. She joins Sherlock on the street who tries hailing a cab down. She puts a hand on his shoulder and says, "I think we can apparate."  
Sherlock is excited. He had wondered what this 'apparate' thing was. He would finally know today! Hermione slips her hand in his and drags him into the nearest alley. She places both her hands around his waist. He wonders why is she embracing him when he feels a tug behind his navel and the sensation of being pushed through a very tight tube overwhelms him.  
It does not last for long. He opens his eyes slowly and notices they are in another alley. He suddenly becomes too aware that somehow his arms had found their way around her tiny waist and her face is near his neck, her breath tickling his neck. Not an unpleasant feeling entirely.  
Hermione likes this. His strong arms around her. She looks up at him and asks, "What do you think?"  
"It was quite…something," he says, his breath fanning her face. All the blood in her body rushes to her face. Sherlock notices her blush creeping up her face. He removes his hands and says, "We could do it again. Right?"  
Hermione laughs. She says as points to the right, "The Leaky Cauldron first."  
Sherlock follows Hermione through a non-descript door in to a gloomy little place where the chairs were moving on their own and trays laden with food in mid-air were floating . He could have sworn he was imagining things if someone had not knocked into him.  
Hermione spots Millicent and winds her way to her. Sherlock follows and spots the stout woman in her mid-thirties.  
Hermione slips into the seat opposite and says, "Hello Millicent."  
"Hello Granger," Millicent says in a tone that Sherlock has heard before as he slips in the seat beside Hermione. This I-have-a-bitter-pill-in-my-mouth tone. He frowns and files this away, to be investigated later.  
Millicent notices him, "Who is this bloke?"  
"Antoine Durand," Hermione lies as she looks at Sherlock with her silent plea, "He is looking for Pansy too. He is from the French Ministry. He doesn't speak English very well but he understands it."  
Sherlock decides to don his best authoritarian face. Millicent seems to buy that explanation. She asks, "What do you wanna know?"  
"Everything," Hermione says, "Like what happened to Pansy after she left Hogwarts."  
Millicent leans forward and begins her story,  
"Pansy and the rest of the Parkinsons fled England after the defeat of Voldemort. You know, to escape prosecution. I heard they had gone to Paris where the Zabinis welcomed them. Blaise had his funeral by then. She changed her name to Dahlia Raffin. The entire Parkinson clan changed to their name to Raffin.  
"There she has an herb shop which doubled up as a shop for buying ingredients for potions. Then ten years ago she met a half-born wizard named Jacques Delacour. I don't know if she really fell in love with him or not, but he was wealthy. He died later, I heard. No surprise there."  
Millicent allowed herself some humour to herself. Hermione and Sherlock exchanged a look that meant "She definitely killed him" because Hermione had read the file Lestrade had given to Sherlock. Hermione asks, "Okay. How do you know all this? Why are you telling me all this? And who told you to contact me?"  
"Well, Pansy kept in contact with me. I am doing this because last month she came to me. That bitch owes me money. And Parvati told Lavender who told me. Lavender is a customer at my bakery."  
Hermione arches an eyebrow. The old Hogwarts gossip networks were alive and kicking and thank Merlin for that. Sherlock touches her knee with hers and not even the material of her jeans and his trousers could kill the tingling she felt. She looks at him. He leans close and puts his lips to her ears, "Ask her why she took money from her."  
Hermione feels her skin burning where his lips had lightly brushed her ear. She gulps and asks, "Why did Pansy take money from you?"  
"She was living here in Leaky Cauldron and well I guess she ran out of money. If you do find her, please tell her about me." Millicent rises to leave. Just at the last moment, Hermione remembers something and asks, "Do you know anyone named Sebastian?"  
Millicent frowns, "Yeah that was her new squeeze." And she leaves after Hermione murmurs a "Thank you".  
Sherlock rises and saunters over to the reception where Tom, the hunched barman is scrubbing the counter. He asks, "Can I see your ledger?"  
Tom looks up suspiciously. Sherlock smiles as harmlessly as possible. Tom decides to trust him. He takes out this month's ledger and rasps, "What you looking for?"  
"Last month a woman named Dahlia Delacour came here. I want to know the exact day she arrived."  
Tom ruffles pages and Hermione comes and stands beside Sherlock, her shoulder bumping into his'. Tom slams the book back on the counter and says, "Here, D. Delacour, July 30, 2014."

They both exit the inn. They do not notice the shadow emerging from the back. Sherlock feels his presence. He turns around and his hit by a red light that burns his skin, squeezes his muscles and tries stopping his heart with a iron grip. He falls to the ground, writhing in pain.  
Hermione turns around as she sees Sherlock falling to the ground. She sees a man in a hooded cloak wielding a wand and inflicting the Cruciatus curse on Sherlock. She takes out her wand and tries to disarm the man. He directs his wand at her instead and disarms her. She hears him chuckling. The hood falls from his head. She is rendered speechless as she sees Blaise Zabini in flesh, laughing down at her.  
Sherlock tries moving. Blaise does not miss that. He cries, "Crucio!" Sherlock is hit again and tries desperately to breathe. Blaise chuckles some more as she kneels down beside Sherlock and cries "Stop it!" Sherlock sees Hermione reaching out for her wand but then he gets hit by some other spell and everything turns black.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Wounds

Blaise has stupefied Sherlock. Hermione mutters, "Ennervate." Sherlock opens his eyes. He tries sitting up, but he feels weak. His muscles do not support him all of a sudden. His lungs are fighting for air. What was that?  
Hermione sniffles. She does not feel sure about a side-along apparition now. But she really cannot support his weight and drag him to a cab. She sees his face twisted in pain and agony and throws caution to the wind. She clutches his arm and closes her eyes.  
Sherlock is somewhere between unconscious and awake. The squeezed in a tube sensation returns, except this time it feels a hundred times worse. He also feels a sharp stab of pain in his right leg.  
They apparate on the floor of his living room. She is exhausted. She hears him whimper beside her on the floor, "My leg."  
Hermione sits up straight. She leans down to inspect his leg. He had been splinched. Panic grips her as she sees the blood oozing out from his right leg. She shakes her panic off. He is losing blood and the colour is fading from his face. She summons a scissor and rips the fabric. She almost cries when she sees a substantial amount of flesh missing. She summons her little bag, hoping fervently she had packed the bottle of Dittany. She sobs in relief when she finds the little bottle. She sniffs, "This will sting a little." She drops a few drops of the essence on the wound. He hisses as the essence starts working. Then she mutters, "Ferula" and bandages wrap around his leg  
Hermione wipes her tears. She looks at his face. He looks back, his face deadly pale. She would like to give him some blood replenishing potion but she had not packed that. She conjures a Patronus and sends it to Ginny requesting the potion. Then she asks him, "Can you walk?"  
Sherlock tries sitting up straight but his head feels dizzy. Blood loss, he muses. Hermione stands up and extends her hands. He takes it. He stumbles a little as his leg screams as soon as he puts pressure on it. She supports him by the waist as they slowly make way to his bedroom.  
She lays him down on the bed. She props a pillow under his head. He opens his mouth to speak, but she puts a finger against his lips and says, "Later. Right now you just lie down. Please."  
He obeys her and lies back on the pillow, closing his eyes. Hermione walks out to the kitchen. She spots the little blood pool on the carpet and winces. Where is Ginny with her potion?  
She hears the bell ring. She mutters, "Finally." She opens the door and waits. Then instead of Ginny, Harry Potter walks in. Hermione gasps, "Oh shit."  
Harry hands her the little bottle and eyes the blood on the floor. He raises an eyebrow and says, "Ginny was not home. I got the Patronus. Now will you tell me, what is going on? I called her and asked this address."  
She takes a bottle. Walking into the kitchen she says, "Give me a minute. I need to make some tea."  
She makes the tea and pours the potion into the mug. She takes it to Sherlock's bedroom. She stops at the door, turns around and signals Harry to follow her.  
Sherlock sees Hermione enter with a mug in her hand. She sits down beside him and says, "Here, drink this. It will make you feel better."  
He takes the mug and sips it slowly as he eyes the dark haired stranger looking around warily. Hermione says, "That's Harry Potter, my friend. And Harry this is Sherlock Holmes."  
He puts down the mug. He says, "You can sit down, you know. You have a lot of questions and you are wondering if I know your secret. Since you must be Hermione's friend, I can correctly assume, you must be a wizard too."  
Harry's face betrays how surprised he feels. He looks at Hermione who gives him a lopsided smile, and says, "Yeah he is amazing like that."  
Sherlock does not know if it is the blood loss or something but he takes a certain satisfaction at her words. He drinks some more from the mug.  
Harry sits down at the other edge of the bed. His face turns serious, he asks, "Now, I'd like some answers."  
Hermione sighs and begins to tell him everything from the beginning with Sherlock's help. From the discovery of the body by Dudley ("He never told me anything!" Harry interjects) to the attack on them in the alley by Blaise.  
Harry, after hearing the narrative, exhales, "Blaise? How is that possible?"  
Hermione shrugs. Harry stands up and says, "Okay. I won't tell anyone. No need to spread this beyond you, me, Mr. Holmes and the Minister. Though I did hear rumours about the body and you on this case, I didn't believe it because you said you were done with this life." Harry smiles at the last sentence.  
Hermione flushes and says, "I never learnt how not to be curious."  
"Being curious is not a bad thing," Sherlock says softly and suddenly he feels very tired.

After Harry leaves, Sherlock falls asleep; Hermione busies herself with cleaning the stain on the carpet. She channels all her rage she had for Blaise into scrubbing the carpet. She knew she could use magic, but the Muggle way was more satisfying than a swish with a wand. He hurt Sherlock, how dare he? Hermione stops scrubbing and feels sad all of a sudden. What happens when this case is solved and Blaise is behind bars? Will they remain friends? Are they even friends? Mrs. Hudson had said, Sherlock did not have many friends. He was difficult, different, blah blah blah. But Hermione did not mind his little idiosyncrasies. Sure they were irritating, but then she guessed every genius is a little flawed.  
She suddenly hears a noise from his bedroom. She walks quickly and hears him muttering. She thinks he says "Hermione". She leans down and whispers, "Sherlock?"  
Sherlock is not actually awake. He is having a nightmare. The black hood and the red light and that unimaginable pain. But instead of him being attacked, he sees a woman on the ground, she has massive brown curls. Her petrified brown eyes are tearful and pleading him to do something, but he cannot even move. He feels paralyzed.  
Hermione swipes away a stray strand of dark hair off his forehead and says, "It is okay." She hears the bell ring. She stands up straight and moves when Sherlock grabs hold of her wrist. He says, "Hermione?"  
She sits down again and sees he has his eyes opened but she realizes he is still in a trance. She says, "I am here, I will be right back," she kisses him on his forehead, "Close your eyes." He obeys her and turns to his side.  
She walks to the window and curses under hear breath. It is DI Lestrade. She almost hyperventilates when an idea forms in her head. She fixes her clothes and cleans up the remaining mess and sits down on a chair. For precautionary measures, she casts a silencing charm around Sherlock's bedroom.  
Lestrade opens the door and stands there, a little perplexed as to why that woman he met in his office last month is sitting in this flat. Hermione acts surprised and says, "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"  
"Uh, Miss Granger, right?" Lestrade says.  
"Yes. Yes. I am waiting for Sherlock. He asked me to come here." She prays he would accept this lie.  
"I came to meet him too. He said he had something to tell me. The nice landlady showed me up," she looks at her watch, "So far I have been waiting."  
Lestrade smiles apologetically as he takes a seat, "He tends to do that."  
Hermione nods. "So any progress?"  
"Well…you are still on this case?"  
"My employer wants me to."  
"Oh. Who is that, by the way?"  
"Sorry, can't disclose that."  
"Well then, we found something on the bullets. I texted Sherlock but I think he is too busy to notice. The bullets are originally American. They first appeared in Miami, Florida. They were made illegal there years ago. These bullets were specifically made to go through bulletproof vests. Cop killers in short. Since Dahlia was not wearing any vest, the bullet shattered on impact."  
Hermione nods thinking how could have Blaise gotten hold of illegal American bullets. Lestrade gets a call. He picks it up and talks into it. He rises up and says, "Well I got to go. A homicide beckons. Can you tell Sherlock to contact me when he gets here?"  
"Sure," Hermione says.

Later, after tucking Rose in, she returns upstairs to check on Sherlock again. She finds him in the kitchen, munching on toast. He notices her coming and asks, "So…"  
"Yeah. I should tell you, Lestrade came around. He had information about the bullets." Hermione repeats what Lestrade told her. Sherlock puts down the toast as he chews and crinkles his nose. He says, "How can Blaise get those bullets?"  
"I wondered the same."  
Sherlock walks into the living room and sits down in his chair. He says, "I need to ask you things."  
"Okay. I know what you will ask," Hermione says, taking a seat opposite him, "It was the Cruciatus curse. It is an Unforgivable Curse, meaning it is illegal. It is a torture curse. Prolonged attack can kill people."  
"Oh. I had another question."  
"Okay."  
"Why do Millicent and Astoria not like you?"  
Hermione laughs darkly, "Because blood matters! And oh, Astoria found me and Draco snogging like there is no tomorrow at a Ministry event. They were very much married and I was separated from Ron by then. She was furious!"  
Sherlock laughs, "So my assumption about you and Draco was correct," then he frowns, "but the blood thing, I don't understand."  
"In the wizarding world, there are three kinds of wizards. The high class of wizards called Purebloods, who have parents both magical, like Draco, Astoria, and Pansy. Half-bloods come next, who either have a father or a mother who is a witch. And the lowliest of them all are the Muggle-borns, like me. So you can see why they don't like me. I have worked hard to erase such differences, but a little bit of discrimination still remains." Hermione unconsciously starts rubbing her left arm where Bellatrix Lestrange had forever left her mark.  
Sherlock sees her rubbing her arm. He reaches out and pulls it. He pushes the sleeve back as Hermione tries to resist. He sees the faint outline of a scar on her flesh. He can read 'mudblood' on her arm. It looked old, at least fifteen to sixteen years old. He traced the scar causing shivers to run up Hermione's arm, who stoically tries ignoring it. He mumbles, "What is mudblood?"  
"A derogatory term for Muggle-born witches and wizards."  
"Who did this?" Sherlock asks softly. His fingers still touching her arm.  
Hermione looks into his blue-green eyes. She sighs, "Once, while hiding from Voldemort, we were kidnapped and taken to a place. There, a psychopath named Bellatrix Lestrange carved this into my arm after torturing me. They were other like her too. Most of my school life was spent with people who thought Muggle-borns were freaks and deserved annihilation." Without any warning, a single teardrop escapes from her tear ducts and starts rolling down her cheek at the memories that she cannot delete from her system.  
Sherlock reaches out and puts his thumb to her cheek, wiping the tear. He says softly, "People think I am a freak too."  
Hermione smiles, "But you are brilliant. You show-off a little, but brilliant nevertheless."  
"You are quite brilliant yourself."  
Hermione blinks. His thumb is still on her cheek. Her heart beats faster all of a sudden. She comes to a realization when Sherlock takes his thumb away and coughs. He stands up and says, "It is getting late. You should go sleep. Goodnight."  
He slams the door behind after he enters his bedroom leaving Hermione outside freaking out just a little bit. She realizes she might just like him a little bit.

The days pass. Sherlock takes a private case. Hermione teaches Rose to multiply while working on a new international project at the Ministry. Sometimes Sherlock wonders if Hermione did kiss him on the forehead or was he just dreaming. Sometimes Hermione wonders does he remember the incident that happened that night at all. Sherlock however, pretends not to think about that night.  
It is the first of October when John returns. He finds Sherlock, eyes closed, lost in his mind palace. He has already heard from Mrs. Hudson about the new tenants at 221C. John decides to pay a visit.

Hermione hears a knock on her door. She opens it to come face to face with John Watson. Both are shocked.  
John says, "You…here…what?"  
Hermione says, "Well…umm…"  
A deep voice from behind says, "Miss Granger needed new accommodation and I referenced this place."  
They both turn to see Sherlock standing with his arms crossed at the back and an impassive look on his face.  
John is still speechless and Hermione does not know whether to slam the door on his face or stand there silently playing dumb. She decides to talk instead, "Yes. We met that day, discussing the case when I might have mentioned my requirement for a place to stay. He very, graciously, informed me about this place."  
John gapes and says, "That is very nice, very nice indeed of him to do so. Good day Miss Granger."

John walks up the stairs and enters their flat. He sits down on his chair and grins. He hears Sherlock enter. He turns around and says, "Since when do you help attractive brunettes to look for a place to stay?"  
Sherlock frowns. He knows where John is going. He says, "John, I know you know that I am married to my work. I don't do sentiments. And I don't invest time in such silly pursuits."  
"Yeah right. Don't forget I remember the look on your face that day in Lestrade's office."  
"What look?"  
"The look of being completely and utterly impressed."  
Sherlock would like to retort, but he cannot come up with anything suitable. Fine, John can win this round.  
John gives a satisfied smile when he hears the door of Sherlock's bedroom slamming loudly.

Millicent closes her shop at around nine. The two lower floors are used for the bakery, while the upper floor is her residence. She has a wedding to go to tomorrow. The icing and trimmings are half done. She is also wondering if she should have told Granger the entire truth. She trudges upstairs, the stairs creaking one at a time. When she tries opening her door, she realizes it is already open. Panic flares her blood. She has nothing valuable here, save some loose cash and her mothers’ diamond earrings. She tiptoes in. It is dark. Not a sound to be heard. Suddenly the lights go on. She sees the man standing a few feet away from her. Her bag drops on the flower.  
“You-” before she can finish her sentence, green light fills the room.


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Take Me To Paris

John wakes up with a start.  
What is that sound? He strains hard to hear. Oh, it is Sherlock playing. What time is it? He takes a look at the clock beside and frowns. It is five in the morning. John huffs and decides to go check on his friend.  
"Did I wake you John?" Sherlock asks without turning around as he notes something down on his music sheet.  
John realizes something with a start. Sherlock is composing. The only two times he has seen him composing was when Irene Adler faked her death and when he got married to Mary. And now he is composing again. At five in the morning.  
"Ah, no. Just wondering if you are okay," John says.  
"I am fine."  
"Oh okay then," John says as he goes back upstairs. He is grinning ear to ear. He has a very good idea why Sherlock Holmes is composing.

 

Sherlock sees John going. He heaves a sigh and plops down on his chair. For the last month he had been composing this piece. He had not named it still. He does not know why he is up, at this hour, composing. He prefers the music to drown his thoughts. Especially the brand new thoughts he is thinking—something to do with brown hair, caramel eyes, soft skin and warm touch. "Argh," he mutters and picks up the violin again.

 

Harry Potter is jerked from his sleep at seven in the morning by a Ministry owl tapping on his window. He takes the note from the owl and reads. He sighs, no peace. They found a body at this popular bakery. Its owner was dead.

 

Hermione thinks she is dreaming. And in her dream some sort of music is playing that kind of resembles her ringtone. She wakes up and sees, it is no dream, her phone is really ringing. It is eight in the morning. She almost overslept! She squints at the screen, it is Ginny. She picks it up, "Hello?"  
Ginny says, "Good morning! You won't believe what happened!"  
"What?"  
"Millicent Bulstrode, remember her? Part of Malfoy's posse?"  
"Yeah," Hermione sits up straight, "I do."  
"She was found dead this morning. The killing curse. Harry said."  
"What!"  
"I was wondering what is going on, first Malfoy gets attacked and now Millicent gets killed. Who is picking on the Slytherins, huh?"  
"I don't know. Look I got to go."  
"Oh alright. Bye then."  
"Bye."  
Hermione puts down her phone. She wears her dress robe and runs upstairs. She flings open the door and shouts, "Sherlock?"  
"What?" Sherlock says. He is seated on the kitchen counter, drinking coffee. Hermione stops in her tracks. He looks so tired. She asks, "Sherlock, did you sleep last night?"  
"No."  
Hermione shakes her head at him, "Sherlock, you do know that sleep deprivation will kill you, right?"  
"Yes. But you are not here to reprimand me."  
"No I am not. Ginny just called me. She said Millicent is dead. Killing curse, Harry said."  
"Harry?"  
"Yeah, he is an Auror. Your equivalent to a police in our world."  
"Oh. So-"  
He stops as he hears John coming towards the kitchen. Hermione stands up to go when Sherlock grabs her wrist and completes his sentence, "You want to visit the crime scene?" He can feel the steadying throb of her pulse.  
Hermione nods as she finds herself mesmerized by the myriad colours in his eyes. The icy blue mixed with the flashes of green and sometimes speckled with gold. Her trance is broken when John coughs at the entrance. Sherlock lets go of her wrist and Hermione backs away a little. John just smiles.  
"Well good morning Miss Granger. Do you need something?" John asks pleasantly.  
"Uh yes, I was wondering if you guys have sugar. I have run out of it."  
"Sure take some," John starts opening drawers, "So you have a daughter I heard. Haven't see her around."  
"She was with my ex-husband yesterday."  
"Oh. Here you go." John passes the sugar.  
Hermione gushes, "Thank you. See you later." She sighs as she leaves. She really wished she did not have to hide from John. He seemed like such a nice man.  
John grins as she leaves, "What was that?"  
"What was what?"  
"You were holding her hand."  
Sherlock is at a loss for words. He manages to say, "Uh, nothing. I don't remember why I grabbed her wrist."  
"Yeah right," John smirks and starts whistling as he heads to the bathroom.  
Sherlock feels extremely annoyed.

 

Millicent's apartment is dismal. Clean and almost clinical. And the absence of green surprised Hermione a little. Harry had given her the key and no more than ten minutes. She had let herself and Sherlock in. As soon as they had entered, he had taken out that magnifying glass and started doing what he is best at. Hermione stands back and decides to watch the show.  
Sherlock starts with the foyer carpet. He collects some fiber of it. Then he moves to the writing desk. He shuffles some paper. Hermione reckons he found something important when he pockets a piece of paper. Then he walks up to her and asks, "How tall do you think Blaise is?"  
Hermione frowns, "Umm I think six feet and an inch?"  
"He was here. The shoe impression tells us that. Too long for a woman."  
Her breathe gets caught in her throat, "Are you sure?"  
"Yes. Plus I need to test this substance I found." He brings out his fiber sample.  
"And what was on the paper?"  
He glances at his watch, "Our ten minutes are almost up. We need to go Barts."  
Hermione does an eye roll. She has learnt how to be patient with him.

 

Molly is deciding what to have for lunch when Sherlock enters her lab with this good looking woman with him.  
"Molly I need to use the electron microscope and the mass spectrometer."  
Molly gives him an exasperated look. She turns towards the stranger, "Hi, I am Molly Hooper. You are?"  
Hermione smiles, "I am Hermione Granger."  
"Very nice, now can we get to work?" Sherlock asks impatiently.  
"Oh alright, I just wanted to meet your um-"  
"Friend."  
"Colleague."  
Sherlock and Hermione say simultaneously. Both are surprised by what they hear. Hermione feels her heart skip a beat (Friend!). Sherlock feels a bubble bursting somewhere (Colleague?).  
Molly shakes her head and passes Sherlock the items he requires. She gives them one last look as she leaves for lunch. She muses, too bad Sherlock is not interested, those two would have made a beautiful couple.

 

Hermione sits silently watching Sherlock work. He is staring down the microscope. Next he puts the sample in a tube and turns on the mass spectrometer. He waits patiently for the result. A ping signals him to look at the screen and say, "Lacewing fly? Crushed lacewing fly? What was the man doing with lacewing flies?"  
Hermione says sharply, "What did you say? Lacewing?"  
"Yes. Why?"  
"They are used in potion-making."  
"That was the substance under Blaise's shoes."  
"Why would he have lacewing extracts under his shoes?"  
Sherlock brings out the paper he had taken from Millicent's flat and asks, "Pansy had a potion shop in Paris."  
Hermione snatches the paper from his hands. "I always wanted to visit Paris."


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Old Flames and Potions

Next morning they were enclosed in a private jet that Mycroft had provided and were heading to Paris. Hermione is excited. Rose was safe with Ginny, the case was going somewhere and she always wanted to come to Paris. Perfect.  
Sherlock is pensive. The case was heading in a new direction. Millicent was dead because she knew something. Plus he now had a new worry. Hermione had her wand, he had his gun, but would that be enough? He is worried for her. And for himself. But mostly for her.

 

They check into their hotel and Hermione moans of a headache. They decide to start investigating tomorrow.

 

A taxi takes them to 5th Arrondissement Latin Quarter the next day, the address on the paper. A row of charming apartments greet them. They get down from the taxi and look for Pansy's abode.  
They are unable to find 201. Sherlock tries asking people nicely but no one can give them a proper answer. It baffles him greatly. Sherlock crosses his arms and looks up the street with a stormy expression Hermione chews her lip and shakes her head. Suddenly she realizes, "Fidelius Charm!"  
"What?" Sherlock says.  
"The flat must be locked by the Fidelius Charm. It hides a secret within a person. That means the location of Pansy's flat is known by some person and the location won't be revealed unless the charm is lifted."  
"Great," he mutters.  
"Are you looking for Pansy?" a blonde woman in her late twenties asks them in an accented voice.  
Hermione frowns, "How do you know Pansy? We are looking for Dahlia!"  
Sherlock stared the woman down suspiciously. She laughs, "I know Pansy since she was eighteen. I am a witch too. I have been looking for her. You see my mother helped her with the shop and I work their part-time. The Parkinsons were our family friends. I live nearby and have been coming here every few days to check if she has come back."  
Sherlock asks, "What is your name?"  
"Marianne Zabini Bernard. So do you know where she is? I have been looking for her everywhere. I don't even know who is the secret keeper."  
Hermione's head was spinning, "Wait? Your mother was a Zabini?"  
"Oui. Why?"  
"Uh. Nothing. It's just I knew Blaise Zabini from school."  
"Oh yes my late uncle. I remember my grandparents left our ancestral mansion after he died. Quelle belle maison, il etait…"  
Sherlock and Hermione exchange a look. An abandoned mansion. An abandoned ancestral mansion sounds like the perfect hiding spot. Sherlock steps down from the curb to hail a cab after he learns the address.  
Marianne asks, "Why does he want to go there?"  
"He loves old mansions," she says. She remembers something, "Do you know anybody named Sebastian? Someone Pansy was seeing?"  
"Oui. He was an ex-boyfriend she said. Oh sorry ex-ex-boyfriend!"  
Hermione laughs along with Marianne.

 

The address they got takes them to a posh area in Paris. They get down and walk towards the dilapidated mansion. The iron gate is locked with the sign 'FOR SALE' hanging from it. Hermione takes out her wand and says, "Cover me. I can open this." Sherlock does as she says. Then she mutters, "Reducto."  
The lock gets blasted and the gate is pushed open. Sherlock smiles, "I am starting to love magic."  
As he struts before her, she grabs his sleeve and stops him. "Wait. Homenum Revelio." When it indicates there is no human presence, she says, "There is no one here."  
"How?"  
"It is a spell to reveal human presence."  
"I feel we still need to look inside."  
Sherlock nods as they enter the mansion. Hermione decides to look downstairs while Sherlock explores upstairs. She walks into what is the ballroom and spots a large cauldron and some furnishings. She walks to the cauldron and peeps inside. It is almost empty and contains a muddy liquid. She knows what it is. She had made the same thing in that haunted washroom twenty two years ago.  
"Sherlock!" she shouts after coming back into the hall.  
Sherlock hears her and goes down. He says, "I found clothes. Different kinds and different sizes. Both male and female outfits. And in this other room I found an assembly of junk objects. Also I found a drawer filled with hair of different colours. What does that mean?"  
"That means Blaise has been hiding in plain sight all these years. And this is why he needed Pansy. And he has been travelling without air miles."

 

Later, when they go back to their hotel for lunch, Hermione explains, "Lacewing flies are used for making Polyjuice potion. This potion can make you change your complete appearance. From your height to your skin colour. That is why he needed clothes of various sizes. And a key ingredient in this potion is a part of the person you want to look like. A hair strand, a nail clipping, etc. That is why he had hair samples in that drawer."  
Sherlock listens to her silent awe. Had he met her two years ago, faking his death would have been much easier.  
Sherlock asks, "The junk?"  
"He has been making Portkeys. These are objects that help you cover large distances."  
Hermione looks down at her half-eaten sandwich and says, "I wonder…I mean…"  
"What?" he asks.  
"He has already exposed himself, why would he still make the potion? And for making Portkeys you need someone on the other end."  
"Maybe he wants to keep doing what he has planned to do. And he is not alone."  
"And what is that?"  
"He seems to want to hurt his friends. Pansy, Draco and now Millicent."  
Hermione thinks Sherlock could be right. But his explanation does not satisfy her. In fact, Sherlock himself is not satisfied with his theory, there is something they are both missing.  
Hermione sits up and says, resting her elbows on the table, "Hey Sherlock. I know this is horrible timing, but can we go to the Eiffel Tower when it's darker? I want to see the lights."  
Sherlock down at her eyes shining with repressed excitement. He knows this is bad timing, but finds himself saying, "Okay."

 

They go see the Eiffel Tower that night in all its shiny glory. Hermione stands mesmerized as she stands in front of it. She sighs happily. She loops her arm around Sherlock's arm and rests her head on his shoulder.  
Sherlock startles when she puts her head on his shoulder. When he looks at her contented and happy expression, a smile makes way onto his face. He releases his arm from her hold and puts it around her shoulder.  
Hermione snakes her hand around his waist. Surprised by this sudden movement, she keeps quiet. This moment now is perfect. It will never come back. She rather not speak and destroy it. Better yet, she thinks, he rather not speak and destroy it.  
Unbeknownst to her, the tiny voice in the detective's head was saying the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N. Hello lovely readers! I am going on a mini-vacation, so I will not be able to upload regularly! So I leave you with two chapters in a day (I am nice like that!). Now for some sun, sand and sea!! Ciao!


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Anything

John knew Sherlock had gone to Lancashire on a case. He also observed Hermione was gone too in that period. He wondered why. Though the possibility of the situation was improbable. He thinks he is just imagining things were there were not any. But personally, he thinks they are a perfect match. She was as clever as he was. While Molly had been, well all flustered around him and Irene may have been engaged in a power-play with him, Hermione Granger was neither affected nor playing. And John liked that. Rarely a woman could be coherent around Sherlock Holmes. And rarely was Sherlock kind to strangers.  
Also, have they have seen each others' faces when they are in the same room? John chuckles. He should call over Lestrade to make a video. He remembers one incident specifically.

Hermione had come over with her daughter. She said, "Hello John, this is my daughter, Rose."  
Rose had shook hands with him, "Hello John. Nice to meet you. Mommy says you are the funny man's friend."  
Sherlock who was ignoring everyone, sat up straight in his chair and said, "Funny man?"  
Hermione had been all flustered, "Oh sorry! Rose decided to give you a nickname!"  
Sherlock had narrowed his eyes at Rose. John had warned, "Sherlock she is just a kid."  
Instead, Sherlock had asked Rose a question, "Has your mother a nickname for me too?"  
"No," the little girl had answered, "She thinks you are a nice man. Right mummy?"  
Hermione had blushed and Sherlock's scowl was erased. John suddenly understood, he wanted to hear that.  
John had stood up and asked Rose, "I think I have some ice cream in the freezer. Do you want some? If that is okay with you Hermione?"  
At her mothers' permission Rose had followed John into the kitchen. Well John wanted to eavesdrop, basically.  
He heard Hermione asking, "Why that weird question to my daughter?"  
"Just like that," Sherlock had answered. Yeah right. "I am not that nice."  
"Well you are downright unpleasant, but you have your moments."  
John hears Sherlock chuckling, "Thank you, I guess."  
"And here I thought you did not know how to show gratitude."  
"You are welcome."  
"As I said," her voice a lot softer now, "You are a despicable being. But you have your brilliant moments."  
"That's nice of you to say so Hermione," the tone of his voice had made John to peek out of the kitchen and then he had seen their faces. Hermione blushing and looking at her toes while Sherlock looking at her with an expression John had never seen on him before. A soft, wistful and appreciative glance. John had almost clicked a picture.

Hermione and Sherlock return from Paris on the eighteenth of October. They both feel they have learnt something important but they know it is not enough. Though they have made a silent vow to never mention that moment under the Eiffel Tower. By now, it felt like a distant pleasant dream to Hermione, while Sherlock was trying hard to erase that memory from his hard drive.  
Hermione feels confused by his behavior sometimes. Here he had claimed to the rest of the world that he did not have feelings or sentiment or did not care and he was a sociopath, she sees the opposite of all that in him. She knew he had faked his death to save his friends, and she knows sociopaths don't do that. And sometime she would catch him staring at her. Then she would wonder what he was thinking or looking for in her face. She wanted to know. But she knew as soon as Blaise was caught, he will eventually distance himself from her.  
Sherlock was baffled by how he was behaving around Hermione. The tiny part in him was gaining size little by little every day. The tiny part that liked the way her eyes would sparkle, the tiny part that liked the scent of strawberries and summer. He wanted to squash all these stray thoughts that would creep in his mind palace without invitation. He wanted to stay far away from her, but he cannot. First reason was obviously because they haven't figured out where Blaise is hiding and second reason was that he simply cannot.

The day they arrive, Ginny calls up and after some banal gossiping says, "You know, Draco has moved back in the Malfoy Mansion because his mother wanted to take care of him. Aw, her little Draky needs cuddles."  
Hermione laughs. Then a thought flashes through her mind. She decides to send Draco an owl.

Draco Malfoy is back at home. He is in his bedroom, with its green and silver wallpaper and black drapes. The nightmare still fresh in his mind. He lies down on his bed and tentatively touches the stitches on his stomach. As he ponders over his near-death experience, a barn owl taps on his window. He rises from his bed and walks over to his window. He takes the message from the owl. It is Hermione's handwriting. He opens the note.  
Draco,  
Can you tell me if Pansy and Blaise ever dated?  
Sincerely.  
Hermione

An hour later, Socrates flies back to her with a reply. She opens it excitedly.  
Dearest Hermione,  
I don't know why you are asking this, but yes, she was dating Blaise. If you call cheating on me dating, then yes. She may have wanted my money, but she was weak when it came to Blaise. She would have done anything for her. Anything.  
Love,  
Draco  
Anything hunh? Hermione wonders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all this mush. It is just...I LOVE WRITING MUSH! Pathetic, I know...


	18. Chapter Seventeen: Zabini Reveals

It has been a month. They cannot find him. They never will. He has been running for sixteen years. He is an expert in hiding. He would like to go back to America and assume his other identity. Being Blaise Zabini reminded him too much of the life he had left behind. It reminded him of the people who betrayed him. People, who turned their back on him and his family. The bloody Malfoys were let free. Why? They were as much responsible as his family was. It was all Narcissa Malfoy's fault. And Draco is a coward just like his father. He really had enjoyed stabbing him.  
He closes the door behind him as he decides to take a walk. He is now currently holed up in an abandoned mansion on The Bishop's Avenue. He smirks. Living in abandoned mansions has become a new thing for him. The first two years back at the Zabini abode in Paris and now here. He reminds himself to go bring back the cauldron. His supply of Polyjuice was dwindling. Lovely Pansy, who would do anything for him. Stupid bitch, he never loved her. He just needed free access to ingredients. Then she started to blackmail him. She was smarter than he had believed. How she got to the other secret, he will never know. But killing her was difficult. Nostalgia is an idiot.  
Maybe killing Millicent was not required. But he knew Millicent had figured out he was alive. Pansy would never have any secrets with her best friend. And he had seen her talking to Granger and that Muggle. A Muggle in Leaky Cauldron, he shudders. Though, he was no ordinary Muggle. The Internet was a truly wonderful thing.  
The reason why he had to fake his death seemed inconsequential now. But he had to. He was not going to Azkaban. He closes his eyes and leans against a wall as he reminisces. He was fighting this Ravenclaw boy in the Astronomy tower. While they were dodging curses, an idea had formed into his mind as he had realized the boy kind of looked like him. He had finally managed to stun his opponent. Then he had changed their attires. He had not forgotten to place his ring on the boy's fingers. The ring was his pride, but pride goes before a fall.  
The rest had been easy. Pick him up and throw him down. Gravity and velocity had done the rest of the job. He had seen Draco crying over his body. He had seen Pansy fainting at the sight of his damaged body. He even went to his funeral! That was fun, he chuckles.  
He decides to go back to his temporary residence. It looked like it might rain.

Greg Lestrade stared at the folder. This case is getting weirder and weirder still over the months. He had hoped Sherlock would solve it faster. He drives to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock needs to hear this new development.  
Lestrade walks in Baker Street. John is updating his blog and Sherlock is nowhere to be seen. Lestrade coughs, "Where is Sherlock?"  
John looks up from his computer and smiles, "Downstairs, with our new neighbor."  
"What is he doing there? Terrorizing the poor man?"  
"Man?" John guffaws, "It is a woman."  
"Nope," Lestrade shakes his head.  
"You could go downstairs and see for yourself."

Hermione is letting Sherlock read her favourite book, Hogwarts: A History. She was quite surprised when he had knocked on her door and asked, "Why is Hogwarts not on maps?"  
Hermione had raised her eyebrows and decided instead of saying it, she rather have him read it. So she had dug out her copy from her overstuffed bookshelf and handed it to him. He had been reading it for an hour, occasionally throwing questions at her.  
Sometimes Rose would answer back as she had already read it twice. She sits down beside Sherlock and both of them had their heads buried in the book. Hermione looks at the scene and smiles. She comes out of the kitchen with a cup of tea for Sherlock and a glass of juice for Rose. She places the tray on the coffee table when the bell rings.  
She opens the door to find Lestrade gaping at her. Well, in his defense, he is truly speechless. He stammers, "I-I am looking for Sherlock?"  
Hermione too stands there speechless. She ought to throw a party so everybody in Sherlock's life can get over the shock of her moving here. "Hello Detective Inspector Lestrade."  
He nods, "Miss Granger."  
"Come in please."  
Lestrade walks in and the scene in front him shocks him more. Sherlock sitting Indian style on the sofa with a book and this little red haired girl leaning against him. Hermione speaks, "Sherlock?"  
Sherlock raises his head. He frowns at Lestrade and closes the book. She says, "And that is Rose, my daughter."  
Rose gets down from the sofa and smiles up at Lestrade. Sherlock stretches out his legs and says, "What?"  
Lestrade says, "I found the bullet dealer."  
Hermione tells Rose to go to her room and looks expectantly at Lestrade. Lestrade hesitates, he is not sure should he tell her.  
Sherlock says, "She can stay. She is still helping me with this case."  
"Okay," Lestrade says, he knows he would get a call from Mycroft surely if he does not, "Well after we traced the bullet to Miami, we encountered a problem in locating the dealer or dealers. The trail ran cold after Miami Dade Police Department failed to locate the person or persons responsible for putting the bullets in circulation in the first place.  
"A Lt. Caine was willing to help us, so he looked into on this on his own. He finally managed to give us a name. But this person is a ghost. He operated alone."  
Sherlock asks, "What is the name?"  
"Sebastian Moran. British expat. Went to the States fifteen years ago. Caine could only find this much."  
Hermione frowns. Then she looks at Sherlock who is standing there mirroring her expression. He looks back at her, maybe thinking the same thing, was this Sebastian Pansy's Sebastian?  
Sherlock asks, "Where is this Sebastian now?  
"That is the best part. He is in London. But he never checked into any hotel. We checked flight registers. He came over to London twice two years ago and he has been in London ever since twenty eighth August, two days before Dahlia died."  
Sherlock gets an idea, "What about abandoned buildings? Especially mansions?"  
Lestrade frowns, "Why?"  
"Just do it Gavin. Check along The Bishop's Avenue."  
Hermione feels as if Sherlock has already figured out something. But being his insufferable self he probably would not tell her. And did he just call Greg Gavin?  
Lestrade ignores that bit and dials a number on his phone. He repeats what Sherlock said to him. Hermione feels excited. This mystery was giving her a headache.

The mansion's name is not known. The owners never even named it. He thought it would look amazing if renovated and restored. Maybe after all this blows away, he could purchase this place. He would name it simply 'Zabini' and put snake sculptures instead of the eroded peacocks that stood beside the iron gates.  
He is sitting on the (once) grand staircase that winded up from the foyer to the top floors, waiting, when the main gate crashes and lights flood the room.

Lestrade is at the fifteenth house they are looking in when he gets a call through dispatch that Moran had been found. He rushes over just as a junior cop cuffs him and pushes him inside the patrol car. Lestrade dials Sherlock's number, "We got him!"

Sherlock receives Lestrade's call. Hermione turns to him, "They found Moran?"  
"Yes," Sherlock says.  
They are waiting in Lestrade's office. Hermione scrunches her face and asks, "How did you know where he would be?"  
"Patience Hermione," he says and then steeples his fingers.  
Hermione crosses her arms and leans against the desk. Sherlock is sitting in the chair. Her insides are burning with questions, but she knows right now talking to him will be talking to a wall.  
"Do you have your wand?" he says all of a sudden.  
Hermione startles, "Wh-yes, I do. Why?"  
"I need you do the silencing spell you would do around me when Rose would talk too loud."  
She blinks, "You knew I did that?"  
"Yes. I noticed it twice. Thank you, by the way."  
Hermione gives him a lopsided smile, "You do know how to say thank you."  
Sherlock smirks at her. She smirks back. Suddenly a thought grips her. This is it today. He would not need her around anymore. Her smile drops. She starts cleaning her nails instead. He must not see how she feels.  
He frowns at her. He cannot see her face anymore. Her head is dipped so low. Why is she doing that? Did he do something? He stands up and tries to reach out, but drops his hands. He does not have the right words.  
Hermione takes a deep breath and looks up. He has such a confused look in his face that she laughs out loud, "You are so cute when you are confused!"  
The nose crinkle returns and intensifies, "And here I thought I did something."  
"You did not do anything. I-"  
An officer knocks the door and pokes his head in, "Detective Lestrade is here. He is at the interrogation room."  
They leave the office and start walking towards the interrogation room. Sherlock leans down and whispers "Do the spell when Lestrade allows us to go in."  
"Okay," Hermione whispers wondering whatever would she need to do it for.  
As if reading her mind, Sherlock murmurs, "You will see soon enough."  
They enter the connecting room where the interrogation room is separated by a one-way glass. And the criminal sitting opposite—telling a tale of how he met Dahlia Delacour and how when she wanted to expose him to the rest of the world drove him to murder her—almost knocks Hermione off her feet.  
"Sebastian Moran is Blaise Zabini?" Hermione says with her voice shaking.  
"Yes." Sherlock affirms.  
"You knew…how?"  
"Think Hermione, think."  
Hermione's mouth gapes open like a fish out of water. She closes her eyes and tries calming down. Okay, she can do this. She can totally do this. She takes a few deep breaths and goes over all the evidence they collected, stories they heard and things they saw. Finally, she gets it, "Oh."  
Sherlock smiles down at her. It took her less than two minutes. She is brilliant.  
"Come on, Lestrade is done." She hears Sherlock saying. She follows Sherlock into the interrogation room. He says, "Do it."  
She takes out her wand and casts the silencing charm, so anybody else cannot hear what they have to say. They take a seat and face him.  
Blaise a.k.a Sebastian grins at Hermione, "They can see this later you know."  
"I will Imperio them."  
"Always prepared."  
"I am."  
Blaise turns his attention to Sherlock, "So how'd you figure that Blaise Zabini and Sebastian Moran are the one and only?"  
"You have an affinity for dilapidated mansions," Sherlock replied.  
Blaise guffawed, "That is it?"  
"Of course not. The biggest clue was left by Pansy herself. She kept talking to everyone about Sebastian, her new boyfriend. Then your cousin said to Hermione, Pansy was dating her ex. I know you told her to call you Sebastian because you knew it would be hard for her to keep quiet about you."  
"Yes because Pansy was truly addicted to you. And you knew this. You took advantage of her affection to score potion ingredients," Hermione says, "Why did you kill her though?"  
Blaise starts laughing hard. "Oh my God, you two are amazing at this! He was right, you really are smart." The last sentence is delivered to Sherlock.  
Sherlock frowns, "Who?"  
Blaise wipes a tear from the corner of his eyes, "Never you mind. Anyway, you asked me why I killed her. Little bitch wanted me all for herself and honestly my work with her was done. She threatened to expose me if I left her, and Merlin knows I don't want to go to Azkaban. Should have never asked for her help. If only I paid more attention in Potions class."  
Hermione scowls, "Why did you hurt Draco and kill Millicent then?And try to kill me?"  
Sherlock answers her instead, "He killed Millicent because he had seen us talking to her. And he wasn't sure if Pansy had told Millicent anything. And Draco was a personal score. He just wanted to hurt him. As for you, he knew you are smart enough and he knew you solve this and get to his secret."  
Blaise laughs, "Right again!"  
"That makes sense. You could have just used a killing curse on Malfoy." Hermione muses out loud.  
"Granger still so brilliant," Blaise mocks.

After casting another Imperio on Lestrade and a few other officers, Sherlock and Hermione are back in Lestrade's office. Blaise is being taken to Wandsworth Prison. She is chewing her lips and Sherlock is silent again.  
Suddenly she speaks up, "Didn't you feel he was hiding something?"  
"Yes," Sherlock replies.  
"It is almost like he wanted to be caught."  
"Yes."  
"Argh!" she flails her hands and runs them through her hair making it bushier still.  
Lestrade enters his office and says, "Finally over."  
But to Sherlock and Hermione, this just feels anti-climatic.


	19. Chapter Eighteen: Is It Christmas Yet?

It was a week before Christmas now. The last two months had been different for everybody.

John had been invited by the Holmes to spend the Christmas with them. Even Sherlock was going, because his mother had refused to hear any excuse. John almost fell off his chair when he heard Mycroft was going as well. He will get to see a Holmes family dinner. Golden opportunity to witness them in the domestic environment. John would not miss it for the world.  
He has heard that Hermione was going to spend her Christmas with her daughter at her parents' place and then she would head over to her previous in-law's place ("I have known them since I was eleven years old," she had said). He even ventured as far as telling Sherlock to invite her to the Holmes' house. He was met with a "What for? She would not go. She has plans."  
Sometimes John felt like punching his friend, hard. A smart guy like him can be so oblivious to the human obvious. They liked each other; even Anderson could have seen it. After the case that got them together got over, he had been distancing himself from her. And strangely she has been doing it too. Rose however would come visit them and ask Sherlock all kind of questions during his experiments. And Sherlock would surprise John when he would actually answer and explain things to her. He realized Sherlock had become strangely affectionate to this girl. Never had he thought this day would come.  
John smiles to himself and one particular incident crops up in his mind.

It happened during the beginning of December. He had accompanied Hermione to the grocery store. When they had come back, John had invited her up for some tea. As they were near the side door leading to the kitchen, they both stopped at the sound of sniffles and a low voice murmuring. They quietly took a peek inside.  
Rose was hoisted up on the counter, her right palm was outstretched where Sherlock was gently putting on a band-aid and saying, "It is not deep, you know. Don't cry."  
Rose sniffed some more, "I am sorry."  
"Whatever for?"  
"I broke the glass thingy."  
"It is called a slide. And I have lots."  
"But our experiment got ruined!"  
"We can do this again!"  
"We can?"  
John walked in and said, "What happened?" He glanced at Hermione. She had a soft smile on her face.  
"It is my fault. I asked Rose to bring over a slide and she dropped it."  
Rose jumped from the counter and ran up to her mother, "We were looking at cells. They are so funny mum!"  
Hermione patted her head and checked her palm. It was not that serious, Sherlock had taken care of it. She said, "Sherlock, thank you."  
"Hmm," and he refused to make eye contact with her. John rolled his eyes. He said, "Hermione, tea?"  
"Uh, I-"  
Sherlock then had walked into the living room and both had heard him leave. John decided to give him a lecture when he comes back (he never got around to it). He remembers Rose saying, "I think he went out for glass slides."

Sherlock had decided to go through with his plans for Magnussen on Christmas. He had no other thought than that. Except sometime she would creep in them. No matter how hard he tried, she would remain. Now, it was like she occupied an entire room in his mind palace. And locking the doors where becoming difficult.

The Burrow was busy with activity a week before Christmas. All the Weasleys and Potters were arriving. Mrs. Weasley, it seemed was hardly seen outside the house. And the sheer number of children was straining the space. But no one minded, it was Christmas. Except Ron. He was going to face his ex-wife. Also she was going to meet his girlfriend. Merlin knew Hermione's thoughts on Lavender.

Mrs. Holmes was beaming. She will have her two sons over for Christmas. She could have cried due to happiness. She had also invited Mary separately after Sherlock had called her to. She wondered why. But that got pushed to the back off her mind as she started to reference cookbooks to look for a low calorie pudding for Mike. She sighed, her Mike was perfectly beautiful, and why did he need to diet? And there was her younger offspring who forgets to even eat. They both worried her so much.

Lestrade and Molly where going to spend their first Christmas together. He was excited and nervous. He had not found the perfect gift yet!

It is two days before Christmas. Hermione takes stock of all the presents she has packed for the last two days. Then she checks if she has packed all her necessities. Then she shrinks everything and puts them in a tote. She puts all the presents in, except one. She picks it up. It is covered in simple brown paper. She sighs as she calls out, "Rose, I am going upstairs. You'd better be out of the bathroom and fully clothed when I come back! And wear the jumper Grandma Weasley made last year!"  
She walks upstairs, the door is ajar. Sherlock is playing again, that same tune she had heard before. She will ask him what it is.  
Sherlock turns around as the door creaks open. It is Hermione, dressed in washed-out jeans and a maroon handmade sweater. Her hair is loosely held up by a barrette. He thinks she looked lovely. He spies the package in her hand.  
She asks, "What is this tune called? I have heard you play this before."  
"It is my composition. I haven't named it," he replies.  
"It is beautiful."  
Hermione then extends the package towards him and says, "Merry Christmas."  
He is taken aback. He has not bought her anything. She senses his unease, "Don't panic. You can accept this as a thank you gift. You know, thank you for letting me stay here."  
Sherlock takes it. He gently rips the paper and smiles when he sees the title of the book she gave him. Hogwarts: A History by Bathilda Baggins.  
"I charmed it so only you can see the real cover and content. To everyone else it will be A Guide to Beekeeping. I know you haven't finished reading it, so I gave you my spare copy."  
He says, "Thank you." He then leans forwards and kisses her on her cheek. Hermione is rendered immobile. He takes his lips to her ears, and says, "Merry Christmas to you too."  
He returns back to his original position. She winds a strand of hair behind her ear as her skips multiple beats and says, "See you after Christmas then."

He took the badge off the security guard. He puts the few strands of blonde hair he had plucked from the guard's head in his potion. He drinks it and waits a few seconds for the potion to start working. He feels his bone elongate as he shoots up a foot and the borrowed clothes fitting as his lean stomach gets replaced by a paunch. After he has stopped transforming, he enters the grounds of Wandsworth Prison.  
He walks in, and uses his all-access card to go to the special holding cells, where the inmates who were recently convicted were kept at. He spots his friend and raps the iron bars. His friend looks up. He gives a wolfish grin and says in a sing-song voice, "Time to go." His friend recognizes the voice all right.


	20. Chapter Nineteen: The Calm Before The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, the dialogues and scenes are not mine but belong to the mighty Moftiss and BBC. I just borrow them for this story.

Lestrade finally finds Molly the perfect gift. He is so pleased with himself. As he slides the item over the counter for billing, his phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket and brings it to his ear with a slightly annoyed "Hello?"  
"Sebastian Moran has escaped."  
"WHAT?"  
Well there go the Christmas plans.

Flick. Another flick. John just stands there taking it. Sherlock keeps quite but he is seething inside. His whole Magnussen plan had got a lot messier.  
Suddenly lights flood the backyard and the whirring of a helicopter is heard by all three of them.  
Sherlock hears Mycroft speaking over the loudspeakers, "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, step away from that man." He hears Magnussen saying, "They are harmless!"  
Sherlock looks down at John. A plan forming in his head. He was never a man of sentiment, but John had made him a little more humane. He remembers his first and last vow he made at the wedding. He was never a man for promises but he had made one promise, and he will keep it.  
He hears Magnussen saying, "Sorry no chance for you to be a hero this time Mr. Holmes!"  
A hero? As if. Sherlock slips his hand in John's pocket for the gun and says, "Oh do your research. I am not a hero, I am a high-functioning sociopath. Merry Christmas!" He shoots Magnussen once and throws away the gun as he gets down on his knees. He shouts, "Get away from me John, stay well back!"  
John cries, "Christ Sherlock!"  
"Give my love to Mary. Tell her she is safe now."  
Mycroft shouts. "Don't fire! Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes!" He takes of his headset and mutters, "Oh Sherlock. What have you done?"

Hermione is at the Burrow. It is two days after Christmas. She is not aware of the things Sherlock has done on Christmas. She is missing him, yes. She tried contacting him after Lestrade had called her two days before Christmas to say that Sebastian Moran has escaped. Even he could not contact Sherlock. She is now very worried. She hopes he is okay.  
She is trying to keep herself distracted but it is not working. Even Lavender's presence at Burrow is not irking her. They—Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Harry are all seated in the backyard, talking about a particular article in today's issue of The Daily Prophet. It was about Pansy's murder by a Muggle man. Blaise Zabini's rise back from dead is not out yet.  
Suddenly a black owl swoops down and lands in front of her. It has a note clutched to his beak. She extends her hand and grabs it. The owl, accomplishing its task, flies away. She opens the note. Only four words are scrawled on it—"I broke the Charm."  
Her brain starts whirring. She knows who sent this and why. Harry sees her expression. He stands up too, and asks, "What is it?"  
"I need to go to Paris." Hermione replies.  
"Why?"  
"It is urgent." Hermione starts walking away paying no heed to the rest of them asking her questions. Harry looks on quizzically.  
Hermione goes up to her room. Rose has her nose buried in a book. She says her goodbye and collecting her wand, apparates to 5th Arrondissement Latin Quarter.  
Long-distance apparitions always made her dizzy. But she squashes her unease and starts looking for flat no. 201. She finds it. The Fidelius Charm broken. So Blaise was the secret keeper.  
She mutters, "Alohomora." The door swings open. She steps in the flat. It is moderately sized. She stands in the foyer and looks around for a switch. Finally locating one, she flips it on.  
A layer of dust covers everything. She murmurs, "Homenum Revelio." When it is indicated there are no other humans around, she ventures in.  
She makes way to Pansy's bedroom first. She does not know what she is looking for. But she starts searching the place. She opens drawers and cupboards. Then, she does not know why, but she decides the check under the mattress. She slips her hand underneath it and her hand touches something hard and slim, she takes it out, it is a little black notebook.  
She frowns. Maybe this could tell her something. Answer her doubts. The doubt that had been eating her ever since Blaise got arrested. It had changed to a full-fledged suspicion after he escaped. She opens it when her phone rings.

Sherlock stands in his living room for what he thinks is his last time here. Mycroft has said he would not last six months in the place he is being sent. Well, better than prison any day.  
He needs to say goodbye to this place. He does not why but he needs to say goodbye to her. He goes downstairs. But she is not back yet. He stands in front of the closed door and hesitates. He finally makes up his mind and dials her number. She picks up at the first ring.  
"Hello? Sherlock?" he can hear the concern in her voice. He had seen her missed calls.  
"Hello Hermione."  
She feels as if something is wrong, "Sherlock what is going on? You sound different."  
"I am leaving."  
"What? Where are you going?"  
"Leaving London."  
"Why?"  
"I did something. It was necessary. Mycroft is sending me away."  
"What? I don't—you know what, stay where you are, I am coming! Where are you?" He hesitates. She says, in a firm voice, "Sherlock?"  
He sighs, "In front of your flat."  
He hears a sound behind him. He knows that sound. He turns around.  
Hermione stands there looking at him. He looked different. A little less pompous. A little less arrogant. She frowns, "Sherlock?"  
He says, "It is a long story."  
She comes closer, "Tell me anyway." She unlocks her flat and walks in. He follows her. She stands in the middle of the room and looks up at him, waiting for him to start.  
He sighs, "I killed a man."  
Hermione inhales sharply as the notebook she had been clutching in her hand, falls to the ground, "Why?"  
"To save someone's life. John's life." He decides she does not need to know about Mary. The less she knows the better.  
She mutters, "Mycroft is sending you somewhere because, well, there will be riots in whichever prison they send you to, right?"  
Sherlock gives her a sad smile. She smiles back, she asks, "Was it justified, this killing? In your head?"  
He murmurs, "Yes." He adds as an afterthought, " Mycroft says I won't last six months where he is sending me."  
She does not say anything. She feels her heart aching and tears threatening to fall. This brilliant man had so much heart, yet he would keep denying it. He would kill anyone to save the life of his one best friend. She walks up to him and throwing her arms around his torso, hugs him. Sherlock, unlike the previous time, wraps his arms around her and buries his face in her bushy hair.  
She puts her head on his chest and listens to his heart. Pounding away steadily. She may never see him again. She decides this is now or never. She pulls back and looks at him. She puts both her hands on his cheek. Pulling his face down, she gently puts her lips on his'. She places her hand at the back of his neck, slowly stroking the short dark curls at the base like she always wanted to. She feels him shiver slightly under her touch.  
Sherlock is at first, completely surprised by her action. But the soft pressure on his lip and the smell of summer in his nose tugs at him as his body takes over his mind. He kisses her back. He presses her closer to his chest. He strokes her back as she lets out a little gasp.  
Hermione had thought he would push her away or something. She gasps in surprise when she feels his lips moving and the grip around her tightening. She tugs at his curls with both of her hands as she gently nips at his full bottom lips, asking for access. He gives in.  
It is a soft, tender kiss between a man who had never wanted to kiss a woman before but her and a woman who knew she would ultimately never get this man. Finally they break off, when oxygen is needed. She looks down at his neck as she tries to bring back her breathing to normal. She can see his chest rising and falling, definitely trying to calm down as well.  
He moves his hands from her shoulder and cradles her face. He cups her face and looks down at those warm brown eyes he will miss and say, "I—goodbye Hermione."  
He kisses her on her forehead and then moves backwards. He walks back to the door, never breaking eye contact with her. He opens the door and then turns around and leaves.  
Hermione whispers as she sees the tail of his coat, "Goodbye Sherlock."  
She does not cry. But she knows she will, not now but later. Right now all she feels is this ache and this empty feeling she cannot wish away. She slumps down to the floor. Her eyes rest on the fallen notebook, lying there neglected. She picks it up. A loose page falls from it. She crinkles her forehead and picks it up.  
"Fluxweed, knotgrass, lacewing flies, leeches, bicorn horn, bloomslang skin" it is written in pansy's handwriting, "Blaise says it is for his friend Rich Brook. I think I might have seen him somewhere…"  
Hermione reads the friends name twice, blinking fast and breathing hard. She tries remembering where she had heard that name. She almost stops breathing when she remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes...I know. I love mush. And suck at writing kissing scenes....


	21. Chapter Twenty: The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything belongs to the mighty Moftiss. :)  
> The plot's mine, though. (Sherlock isn't mine sadly :'/ )

"To the very best of times," Sherlock extends his right hand towards John.  
John looks at his friend. He takes his hand and shakes it. His heart swells with words he cannot fathom into sentences. A "thank you" will never be enough. Sherlock does not say anything more as he turns around and starts walking to the private jet.

Hermione tries Mycroft's office phone. She needs to know where Sherlock is right now. She had run after him but by then he had already gotten into a car which was speeding away. The phone gets picked up. A female voice says, "Hello. Mycroft Holmes' office."  
"Hi. I need to know where Sherlock Holmes is."  
"Umm sorry, I cannot divulge that information."  
Hermione gets agitated, "Listen—what's your name?"  
"Anthea."  
"Okay Anthea, this is very important. Mycroft knows who I am. My name is Hermione Granger."  
Anthea starts. Hermione Granger. Mr. Holmes had a report on her. In fact he had kept her under his surveillance. She had moved into 221C Baker Street. Anthea had wondered why. She decides to tell Hermione where to go.

Hermione takes a taxi. She has never been to this private airport before, she cannot possibly apparate there, though that would have been so easier. The journey takes her thirty minutes. She tells herself if she had started five minutes after he left, he could be still there. She fervently hopes so.  
She jumps out of the taxi and runs. As this security guard tries to run after and stop her, she throws a Full Body-Binding curse at him. She cannot stop and form believable excuses.  
She reaches the tarmac. She can see them. Mycroft, Sherlock, John and this blonde woman. But they are too far away. She sees Sherlock shaking hands with John and getting on the plane. Then she realizes it is the same plane that they flew to Paris in. She decides she can apparate now.

Sherlock gets in. The door gets slammed shut behind him. He unbuttons his jacket. He is going to sit down, when the familiar sound of a whip cracking in the air reaches his ear. He startles as he sees Hermione appear before him, panting and all flustered. Before he can say anything, she comes forward and thrusts a page in his hand.  
He takes it and reads it. His mouth drops down in utter shock. He looks up. Hermione nods and says, "Those are ingredients for a Polyjuice potion. Blaise's friend Rich Brook—Jim Moriarty made up that name, isn't it? I had read Moriarty had a criminal empire. And Blaise was running an illegal business in Miami and had escaped from jail. What if Blaise worked for him? What if the potion was for him and not Blaise?"  
Sherlock remains as still as a statue. The plane starts gliding along the runway for the take-off.

Lestrade is at the bar watching his football team lose when the screen starts malfunctioning. He rubs his head and curses. Then a very familiar face shows up on the screen. Lestrade's mouth hangs in disbelief.

Mrs. Hudson is cleaning Sherlock's flat. Good thing he is not here now. His flat is filthy. She turns on the television and vacuums the floor while watching the news. Suddenly the pictures get distorted. When it clears, she sees a very familiar face onscreen. She screams.

Molly decides to turn on the television in her office to watch the repeats of Glee. She had missed last night's episode. With an ear on the television she goes back in her lab. She hears the credits playing and comes back. But suddenly the screen whizzes and crackles. When it clears, the face on the screen nearly stops her heart.

The plane takes off. Sherlock is still standing there in shock. Hermione is waiting for him to say something, anything. She sits down.  
The on-board plane rings. The flight attendant picks it up. The voice on the other end asks for Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He takes the phone to Mr. Holmes. He is surprised to see a woman sitting. Even though he is surprised he does not say anything but hands the phone to Mr. Holmes who is looking out the window. He says, "Sir, it's your brother."  
Sherlock takes the phone from the attendant. He says, "Mycroft."  
"Hello little brother," Mycroft speaks, "How is the exile going?"  
Sherlock lets his irritation show, "I've only been gone four minutes."  
"Well I certainly hope you've learnt your lesson."  
Sherlock looks up Hermione. She just gives a confused look. His brother continues, "As it turns out you are needed."  
Sherlock says, "Oh for God's sake, make up your mind! Who needs me this time?"  
"England."


	22. Epilogue

It all started when he was a child. When his wizard parents had realized he was a Squib, they had started neglected him. A Squib child in a Pureblood family? Blasphemy! He was hidden away from the world and sent to live in London. He had cried and fought. He did not want to leave Ireland. But his parents would not bear the shame.  
This is where he had met Blaise Zabini, all of eleven and heading to Hogwarts. But unlike others, Blaise wanted to be his friend. And from then James 'Jim' Moriarty had one friend.  
For years later, he had been Blaise's sounding board and advisor. He had helped Blaise settle after he had faked his death. They changed his name to Sebastian Moran. He had resources now. He was a consulting criminal. And he needed a right-hand man. And he trusted only Blaise.  
The bullets in Miami were a success. But then Jim needed him here. The final problem with Sherlock Holmes. Blaise had understood. He could do this for his friend. He had gone to Pansy. He knew she could help. But then she got to know. She had seen his face and recognized it from the television. She started threatening them both. Then she was taken care of.  
It was not that shocking when he learnt that Sherlock had faked his death. He is very clever. He would have figured things out. But Jim had something Sherlock did not—magic.  
He faked his death too. Polyjuice potion to disguise this other poor man as Moriarty and the Imperio curse to make him do what he pleased. Blaise and Jim had been on the terrace hiding under invisibility cloaks, with Blaise wielding the wand. They had seen Sherlock jump after the other Jim killed himself. The real Jim had not for one moment thought he would actually die. And he was right.  
Then when he had heard the pretty brunette witch was involved, he was glad. He sent that blonde girl to them in Paris. Blaise had argued but he had persevered. His big reveal to the world was getting close.  
Then Sherlock had gone and shot that man. How terrible. Guess he could not wait any longer.  
He smiles at the TV screen as he basks in the joy that he will make Sherlock Holmes dance again. He decides maybe he will throw in a partner for Sherlock this time.  
Yes, that will do splendidly, he thinks as his face says to him from the screen, "Miss me?"

~FIN~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN. The end. It tickles me every time that this fic was inspired by this photoshopped picture of Bendect Cumberbatch and Emma Watson. LOL. Then this monster of a project (for me) took definite shape. As a friend said my stress was worth it. And I feel like yeah, it was. And I can never thank my readers enough. YOU RIDICULOUSLY AWESOME PEOPLE WHO READ THIS, THANK YOU SO EFFING MUCH! I <3 U ALL! 
> 
> PS. Do you think I should write a sequel?


End file.
